


we are the things that we do for fun

by Nonymos



Series: bene castigat [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Accidental Outings, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Beefy Sub Bucky, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Sleeves, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussions of abuse, Dom Steve Rogers, Dungeons, Flogging, Hair-pulling, Humiliation kink, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Bloodplay, Kink Negotiation, Manhandling, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Predicament Bondage, Rad BDSM Etiquette, Realistic Kink, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sam's and Bucky's Permanent Cat Fight, Sex Work, Sub Bucky Barnes, clint is just happy (and also kinda scared) to be here, natasha is just trying to get people off her couch, not entirely accurate and mostly used as a plot device, sam is laughing all the way to the dungeon, sexual fantasies, somehow they’re both totally great and awfully bad at communicating, tiny dom steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-11 06:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11142486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos
Summary: Going to a professional Dom may be one of the weirdest things Bucky’s ever done. Especially since this skinny Steve Rogers guy doesn’t really look the part.But hey, they might just find a way to make this work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Скажи, чем увлекаешься, и я скажу, кто ты](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806908) by [fandom_EvanstanStarbucks_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_EvanstanStarbucks_2017/pseuds/fandom_EvanstanStarbucks_2017), [fata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fata/pseuds/fata)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [[翻译] we are the things that we do for fun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16085927) by [juliaindream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliaindream/pseuds/juliaindream)
  * Inspired by [ART: Shrinkyclinks BDSM](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11243490) by [Riakomai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riakomai/pseuds/Riakomai). 



> Hello, new readers, old readers, all readers! So happy to be posting this! :D
> 
> This work is my contribution to the Captain America Reverse Bang 2017. (Big up to all the mods, it's been amazing all the way! And thank you so much to [Cristinuke](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke) for the speedy beta, you rock.) It was written for Riakomai's LOVELY (and hot, and very NSFW) art. Plus she drew additional art just for my fic, which means I owe her my firstborn now. _Totally_ worth it.
> 
> The additional art will be embedded at the end of this chapter, and the original art will be embedded at the end of the last chapter. There'll be five chapters total, posting on Thursdays and Mondays. 
> 
> Also: this is a realistic BDSM story. I wrote this fic to the best of my ability, and with the best of my personal experience. The kink scene can be such a wonderful world, and Ria’s fabulous art was an amazing opportunity to share it through a fic. ♥
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky glanced down at the small card in his hand, checked the address, then nervously looked back up at the building. He was unmistakably in the right place.

Part of him would have preferred to be lost. That way he could have gone home and saved face in front of Natasha. _The G train got held up, it was such a mess, I got there two hours late, and then I couldn’t find the—_

He was not late, and the number was right there on the façade, an elegant golden 616, impossible to miss. Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d expected. An industrial zone, maybe. Or a suspicious-looking massage parlor, with painted-over windows. Both of which, granted, were very unlikely in this part of Manhattan, but—still. Instead he was standing in front of a huge white marble building, with busy people in suits rushing in and out of the revolving doors, checking their phones and invariably cursing at them between their teeth. Bucky was staying well out of the way in case they bowled him over. He was pretty sure the ground floor was a _bank._

He stood there for another minute. Then he shouldered his bag and finally crossed the street, with hurried strides, staring at the ground. He went up the marble steps, walked through the revolving doors, and made a beeline across the lobby for the elevators. Those, too, were absurdly fancy, all rosewood and gilded edges, pinging softly when the doors opened.

First floor. Bucky pressed the button and swallowed, glancing at himself in the narrow mirror. Should he tie up his hair? God, maybe he should have shaved. But his looks didn’t matter, probably. He was the client here, he didn’t _have_ to make a good impression. Right?

It was too late to run back out anyway.

 

*

 

The elevator stopped with a soft _ding._ Bucky didn’t get out, working up his nerve, wishing his stomach would unknot.

Eventually, the doors started closing; he startled and stepped out, prompting them to re-open. The hallway was as fancy as the rest of the building, soft carpet muffling his steps, beautiful doors carefully numbered.

Bucky swallowed. The elevator doors soundlessly closed again behind him. _Pull yourself together, c’mon._ The door he wanted was at the end of the hall, number 107.

Stupidly he’d expected a plaque, like for a dentist or doctor. But of course there was nothing.

He walked there, raised his metal hand, then thought better of it and knocked with his right fist.

“Coming,” said a voice inside.

Steps, locks turning, and then…

Bucky blinked. There stood a small, blue-eyed guy, who looked politely surprised to see him.

“Um—hello,” Bucky croaked, stomach plummeting. He hadn’t thought someone else would be there. “I’m… I’m here to see Steve Rogers.” He held up the card. “I’m Natasha’s friend?”

The little guy blinked, then beamed at him.

“Bucky, right?” He held out his hand. “I’m Steve.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but thankfully found nothing to say and promptly shook hands instead. _That_ guy was Steve Rogers?

“Hi,” he managed.

“Please, come in.” Steve stepped back, waited for Bucky to duck inside, and then locked the door.

Bucky looked around. The apartment was bright and pleasantly decorated, if a bit on the bland side. Gleaming floorboards, a potted plant with dark glossy leaves. Rattan chairs, pinewood dressers, exposed beams. Fancy zen.

As he walked in, he finally saw something out of the ordinary: a thick straw mat in the corner, with bundles of colored ropes neatly stacked next to it. All very innocuous, still.

“Not what you expected?” Steve said behind him.

There was a knowing smile on his face when Bucky turned around. It needled him enough that he finally found his voice.

“Well, it’s pretty tame for a dungeon.”

Steve laughed. “Been in a lot of those?”

Bucky cracked a smile. “Not really.”

“Alright, can I get you something? Tea, or…?”

“Tea’s good.” Bucky sat on the couch and rested his hands on his thighs, so he wouldn’t start fidgeting. The silence in the apartment was thick like cotton; the windows must be double-paned, the walls soundproof. Couldn’t let the neighbors overhear what was going on in here.

Bucky’s prosthetic whined and whirred in the quiet.

Steve came back from the kitchen, balancing two cups and a pot of tea on a tray. For some reason, Bucky couldn’t look away from Steve’s bare feet; they seemed slightly too big for him—his hands, too, like he should have grown up to be taller and broader, but something had gotten in the way. Bucky kinda hated himself for focusing on how small he was. As if it mattered.

Steve’s blond hair was getting in his eyes, in sharp contrast with his dark clothing; and when he looked up at Bucky after putting the tray down, his eyes were huge and very blue, completely earnest.

 _Maybe it’s a joke,_ Bucky thought miserably. _Maybe this is Nat’s idea of a joke._ But of course it wasn’t;  there were the ropes, the mat. He was in the right place.

“Okay,” Steve said, pulling a chair to sit on the other side of the coffee table. “Here…”

He poured Bucky his tea. It was very dark, with a rich, complex smell. Bucky picked up his cup, then briefly panicked—was he supposed to ask for permission to drink?

But since Steve didn’t seem to expect anything from him, Bucky took a careful sip. It was good tea. His stomach was still tied up, though, and he put the cup back down.

“So, first things first,” Steve said. “Why’d you come here today?”

Bucky blinked dumbly at him.

“Gotta use words,” Steve said with a half-smile.

“I…” Bucky slightly straightened up. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. I thought Natasha had explained—”

“You just look so tense. Almost feels like you don’t wanna be here, is all.”

Bucky berated himself. Maybe Steve didn’t _look_ the part, but he must be good at his job. Natasha wouldn’t recommend just anyone. And, Bucky reminded himself as he rubbed his metal forearm, he wasn’t in a position to judge books by their covers. He had to give Steve a chance, if only because the guy was being polite and—indeed—professional.

“Start at the beginning,” Steve suggested. “Tell me about yourself.”

Bucky licked his lips. “Okay. Um. I’ve always had these… fantasies? Like… being tied up and that kind of stuff? It wasn’t even sexual at first, it started really young. As far as I can remember, actually. It was always… there. It’s always been there.”

Steve was listening intently, letting his tea go cold.

“I grew up, found about S&M stuff, as you do. Um, jerked off to it a lot. Then I left for college and I thought I might wanna try the real deal. So I asked my hook-ups to get a little rough. If they wanted.”

“And that didn’t work out?”

Bucky was still rubbing his forearm. “It was nice, but—I mean, it was _college_ , you know? None of us really had any idea what we were doing.”

Fidgeting. _Dammit._ He wedged his hands under his armpits, then changed his mind, because he would need props for this part.

“I thought I’d try the actual kink scene after graduating. Went to a fetish party. Mostly watched. I was gearing up to go back, but then...” He tugged off his glove and showed Steve his metal fingers. “Got in a car accident.”

Steve looked surprised, almost reached out to touch Bucky’s hand, then stopped himself.

“How long?” he asked.

“Three years ago. Had the prosthetic for two years. It goes up to the shoulder.”

“Okay,” Steve asked. He rubbed the back of his head. “We might need to talk more about it. Triggers, stuff like that, so I don’t mess up. If we take this anywhere, of course.”

“Yeah, sure,” was all Bucky said, which was kind of shitty. He could have made an effort to sound more enthusiastic about it.

He thought of putting his glove back on, then decided against it. He might be nervous, but he didn’t feel self-conscious about his arm at all, which was usually a good sign. Ever since he’d gotten this thing, he’d become increasingly attuned to the vibes people gave off, quicker to like or dislike them on a hunch. Steve was good that way. Bucky was pretty sure.

“Finding partners wasn’t that easy before,” Bucky went on. “But now I also need people who don’t mind the robot arm. And I’ve wanted to get back in the game for a while but it’s been…”

“Difficult?” Steve supplied.

“Disastrous,” Bucky said, prompting an almost-laugh from him. “And—Nat’s a sex worker too, you probably know that, and the other day she just came out and gave me your card and said you were the best in the business and… Well. Here I am.”

He swallowed.

“And yeah, I guess I _am_ nervous,” he added, so sincerity might make up for his obvious lack of eagerness. “It’s just… I don’t know, this is very different from what I imagined.”

He hoped he hadn’t been insulting, but Steve just smiled. “All the same, you’re not a total beginner.”

Bucky blinked. “I kind of am, though?”

Steve laughed. “You’re really not. I got clients who came in like ‘I just thought I’d try something new today’ or ‘I read this _Fifty Shades of Grey_ thing and…’”

Bucky laughed too, surprising himself. “S’good to hear you don’t follow that particular gospel.”

“Buddy, no self-respecting kinkster does,” Steve said, sipping his tea. “But I don’t blame those clients. We all gotta start somewhere, and it’s part of my job to educate people. Oh, by the way—”

He opened a drawer in the coffee table and got out a pen and paper. On it, he wrote:

 

B   D   S   M

 

“Do you know what it means?”

“Huh? Yeah. Something like… Bondage, Dominance and Sado-Masochism?”

“Not exactly.” Steve started circling letters and writing words. “It’s three acronyms in one. Bondage & Discipline, Domination & Submission, and Sadism & Masochism. Anything in there you don’t relate to?”

Bucky was kind of puzzled by this approach. Vaguely, he’d been envisioning sultry smiles, a leather-clad man who’d tell him what a pretty boy he was, how nice he’d look on his knees, that sort of stuff. Kind of silly. But this other end of the spectrum, filling out forms and discussing kink theory in a clean, bland room—it might just feel a bit ridiculous, too.

Still, he answered. “No, all of them sound pretty good…” He eyed the word _discipline,_ let it ripple through his body. He’d always had an organic reaction to it. _Submission. Bondage._ To be tied up, to be gagged, to be _controlled._ “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

“See? You know what you’re about,” Steve grinned. “What about hard limits?”

“I don’t have any,” Bucky said quickly.

Steve just raised an eyebrow. “Wanna try that again?”

Bucky felt a thrill go down his spine, which took him entirely by surprise.

It suddenly hit him how close he was to the real thing. Steve _was_ the real thing. He didn’t look like porn because porn was not real life. _This_ was real life. This was a real Dom.

Bucky opened his mouth. ”I… uh, I’m sorry, I—”

“Looks like I won’t have to teach you how to apologize,” Steve grinned.

Bucky _blushed._ This was absurd. A minute ago he’d been thoroughly disappointed and now—now this?

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “Kind of a broad question. I’ll narrow it down.” He reopened the drawer and got out an actual form.

All of Bucky’s hesitant arousal fell flat. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Don’t worry, we won’t get into the finer stuff, just trying to get a general outline. Okay. Sex?”

Bucky blinked, at sea again. “Are you… offering?”

 _“You_ are, Bucky,” Steve reminded him, leveling him with a calm blue stare. “I’m just making sure what, exactly, you’re offering me.”

And back to being confusedly turned on. Bucky was getting whiplash.

“Sex is—” He had to clear his throat. “Not a problem.” Then parts of his brain came back online. “Always with a condom, though.”

“Oh yeah, of course.”

Steve’s casualness made Bucky shift in his seat. It was silly again—Steve was a sex worker and Bucky was his _client,_ he should be feeling on top of things, at least during the negotiation part _—_ but he had just agreed, in a painfully explicit way, to be fucked by this complete stranger. It turned him on, a thrill riding the edge of fear, making his heart thump in his chest.

“Pain?” Steve asked next, as he ticked boxes and jotted down notes on his actual freaking _kink form_.

 _“Yes,”_ Bucky said emphatically.

Steve grinned at him again—which brought on another clear trickle of epiphany. This scrawny little guy was a _bona fide_ sadist. He wouldn’t just indulge Bucky; he would actively enjoy hurting him. He was wired that way.

Bucky looked around the room with a new eye. It _looked_ innocuous, but some of the seats were actually wooden chests, masquerading under white pillows. Drawers with nice round handles, sanded down to a fault. The whole room was a neat packaging for something potentially much darker. Maybe not to scare the newbies. Or maybe so Steve would keep the element of surprise.

“Bucky?” Steve had finished writing and was looking at him. “You with me?”

“Yeah, just…” Bucky looked at him, saw his bare feet and his cornflower blue eyes, his angel blond hair; but also his stark black clothes and his capable, callused hands.

He had to swallow, shift in his seat again. Christ. Was he filling up?

“M’starting to think this place really fits you, is all.”

Steve’s eyes twinkled like he knew exactly what Bucky was saying—and even more, like he was delighted to have someone understand what he was going for. _Or_ maybe Bucky was just completely off his rocker. Like Steve could follow his train of thoughts—seriously? _Twinkling eyes?_ Projecting. Completely projecting.

“Alright,” Steve said. “Humiliation?”

“Uh, I guess?” Bucky said, trying to focus. “I like the idea of it, but… I never really got around to…”

His voice trailed off. Steve nodded. “It’s a broad one too. We’ll come back to it.”

He wrote down a few more words. Without thinking, Bucky leaned forward to see—and Steve snapped his fingers under his nose.

_“No.”_

Bucky jerked back.

Steve looked up at him. “So,” he said evenly, like nothing had happened. “Restraints?”

Bucky was flustered and it showed. It had been showing from the beginning. He was so completely see-through. Steve, on the other hand, was at ease, in his element.

“Restraints?” he repeated. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathed. He didn’t add anything else.

Steve jotted it down, then asked, “Fluids?”

Bucky almost said _yes_ again, then stopped and thought about it. “No… no blood,” he said, then felt compelled to add, “for now? Who knows. But—no piss, no shit. Ever. I don’t think.”

“Good to know,” Steve said, scratching his nose with his pen. “Scatophilia’s one of my hard limits anyway. You wouldn’t _believe_ the business I’m losing over it.”

Bucky blinked. “You have limits too?”

“Of course. I’m just a guy, you know. Like I said, scatophilia, and also breathplay—it’s fun as a fantasy, but way too dangerous in real life. There’s also a few kinds of roleplay I won’t do. And… I think that’s it, actually.”

He leaned back, surveying his notes.

“Okay, there’ll be a few more things to sort out later—but I think I gotcha figured out, more or less.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky couldn’t help asking,

“Guess we’ll see.” Steve capped his pen, with a meaningful little _click._ “One last thing—what’s your safeword?”

“Do I need one?”

Steve raised a Judgmental Eyebrow again. Bucky was disoriented by how strongly he reacted to it and how eagerly he rushed to explain.

“I mean, it’s just—it’s not roleplay. We can just use plain old English. Can’t we?”

Steve nodded, mollified, and Bucky felt ridiculously relieved. He’d done well, he’d given the right answer.

“You’ll have to pick one anyway, sometime soon,” Steve said. “It’s better to have several layers of communication. Of course we can’t tackle everything on the first day, but—”

“The first day?” Bucky repeated.

Steve blinked up at him. For the first time, he looked like he’d been taken off guard.

“I… yes.” His expression shifted to genuine worry. “I’m sorry, did I completely misread this? Are you here for a one-time session?”

“Oh—no, sorry, no, I _am_ looking for… for someone to be my Dom, I guess.” Bucky cleared his throat and looked at his lap. “Like I said, I’ve tried doing this with people I was seeing, or wanted to date—and it never worked. Never meshed. I’m starting to think maybe it can’t. Maybe it’s better if I… separate these two things.”

“I know a few people who got together in the kink scene,” Steve said softly.

Bucky looked back up. “But not a _lot_ of them, right?”

Steve said nothing.

Bucky ran his metal hand through his long hair. “I… I don’t know, I’m tired of stumbling in the dark hoping to get lucky. It’s been so hard dating, even before the accident. And with the prosthetic thrown in, it sometimes feels like I’m hunting for a fucking unicorn—” He licked his lips. “And… I need this so much. Some days it’s so bad, I…”

He shook his head.

“So, yeah. I figured I’d take Nat up on her offer, go to someone who knew their shit. Stop going in circles, you know?”

Steve looked at him for a minute. Then he put down his pen and got to his feet.

“Stand up,” he said.

Bucky instantly obeyed.

“It’s very important to know that you can always back out,” Steve said calmly, hands on his hips. “Even if it’s in the middle of the scene. Even if you’re worried it’ll ruin the mood. _Especially_ if you’re worried it’ll ruin the mood. Got it?”

Bucky nodded.

“Out loud, Buck.”

Bucky blinked at the nickname, but just said, “Got it.” He hesitated, then added, “…sir?”

Steve smiled. “It’s your first day, so you can call me whatever you want.”

Bucky wondered if that meant Steve didn’t want to be called _sir._ But he didn’t dare asking. Was that a bad thing? Was he anti-communicating? But he didn’t want to be a chatterbox sub either. Oh, great, there he went overthinking everything already. He half-expected Steve to walk to one of the bland drawers and pull out some ungodly instrument of torture; but Steve just looked him up and down, critically.

Then he said, “Do you mind taking your jeans off? S’gonna get uncomfortable otherwise.”

Bucky’s hands automatically went to his belt. He unzipped his pants but felt compelled to add, “I don’t mind uncomfortable.”

“I sure hope you don’t,” Steve grinned. “But rope work in jeans sucks for everyone, believe me.”

Bucky guessed that made sense—jeans would get in the way, make it harder to bend his limbs, and the seams would dig in, the thick cloth would lessen the feel of rope. Speaking of which…

“Rope work?” he repeated, pushing down his pants.

“Yeah,” Steve said brightly. “I always found it was a good way to break the ice.”

Bucky was puzzled again. He’d been expecting Steve to drop his beaming demeanor now that the scene was starting. But it didn’t seem to be happening.

He stepped out of his jeans, then stood there, in a t-shirt and black boxer shorts, feeling slightly awkward. Steve just watched him for a few seconds; then he quickly turned away.

“Come over here.”

They went to the thick straw mat and sat down, cross-legged. Steve plucked some soft-looking red rope and unraveled it, tugging it between his fingers to find both ends. When he had, he put them together and ran the result through his fingers again, so he’d have a doubled-up rope to work with.

“Tell me about your arm,” he said. “Can I treat it like a regular one? Or do you want me to leave it out of my ties entirely?”

For all that he still felt off-kilter, Bucky was relieved Steve had thought of asking.

“It’s very solid, you probably can’t damage it,” he said. “Also, it’s waterproof, and I got everything to clean it up at home. So, wax or ice or—it’s fine.”

He’d fumbled a little saying this, not wanting to make it seem like he was trying to steer Steve in a particular direction. If he did, would Steve indulge him? Would he do something completely different just to prove a point?

“Maybe don’t—don’t suspend me from it, though?”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Steve laughed. “Okay, so what about you?”

Bucky blinked. “Me?”

“Is there any part of your body I can’t touch? Any part I can’t look at? Arm-related or otherwise.”

“No—” Bucky had answered too fast again, he could tell from the look on Steve’s face.

He thought about it, his broken collarbone at age seven, his sprained knee at fourteen. Thought about the scarring on his left shoulder. The initial shock of the accident had rendered him unconscious; he didn’t remember much of it. He didn’t like cars much anymore, got nervous inside of one. But he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be part of Steve’s scene today.

With a little more confidence, he said, “No, it’s all good.”

“Great.” Steve grinned. “Take off your shirt.”

Bucky was surprised by the order—he’d thought Steve wanted him to stay mostly dressed for their first session. Then he realized Steve had been waiting to make sure Bucky wasn’t body shy. _Arm-related or otherwise._

“I’m going to blindfold you,” Steve said casually, putting the rope aside. “Is that okay?”

“Uh,” Bucky said, taking off his shirt. “Yes?”

Eyebrow of Judgment again. Bucky instinctively sat straighter. “Yes,” he repeated, without the question mark.

Steve smiled, then rummaged in one of his many drawers and got out a simple cotton scarf, blue with white polka dots. Then he wrinkled his nose and put it back. “No…” he dug again, then went, “Yeah, that’s more your color.”

He had a red scarf in hand—same color as the ropes. Steve shuffled forward and got Bucky to bend his head.

“Tell me if it’s catching on your hair,” he said, tying the scarf over Bucky’s eyes.

“No, it’s—it’s good,” Bucky mumbled. The scarf tightened until darkness took over.

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Sure?” Steve said, tipping Bucky’s chin up with two fingers.

Bucky swallowed, then shook his head. In truth he could see a sliver of light when he strained his eyes down—but he wouldn’t do it. If Steve wanted him to be blind, then Bucky would even keep his eyes closed.

“Okay.” Steve pulled Bucky forward by the scruff of his neck, and Bucky reached out blindly, suddenly almost panicked. He hadn’t expected this and wasn’t sure what to do without visual cues.

“Hey.” Steve caught his wrists and brought them together between their chests. He was kneeling close enough to trap them there. “It’s okay, Buck. Take a deep breath, let it out.”

Bucky would have rolled his eyes, but when he obeyed, he was shocked to realize how shaky his breathing was. Without being told, he breathed again, slowly, in and out, until it sounded steadier to his own ears.

“Very good.” Steve wrapped a hand behind Bucky’s head to bring him close, until he could press his forehead against Steve’s chest, feeling on his skin the soft black cloth of his tank top.

He smelled good, something clean and wholesome, like laundry and chai tea. Bucky inhaled more deeply. He could hear Steve’s heartbeat, strong and steady in his narrow chest. It was a relief to be so close to him, to have gotten started at last. Also so weird to be this close to a stranger, when less than an hour ago Bucky had been in the elevator fretting about meeting him.

Steve’s fingers moved, tangling in Bucky’s long dark hair. He pulled, slowly, hard enough that Bucky had to crane his head, exposing the column of his neck. His breathing didn’t quicken again, but he was suddenly very aware that he was almost naked, and blindfolded, soon to be tied up. He could feel his pulse in his throat.

“Like when I pull your hair?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky nodded, best as he could. Steve hummed and tugged harder; pain zinged down Bucky’s spine, all the way down to his toes. He breathed deeper, in and out, again, relished the sharp sting of it, he’d missed it so much and now it was there, insistent, making it hard to focus on anything else.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stayed pliant in Steve’s grip, hoping it was enough of an answer. Steve let him go and got up. Not being able to watch should have been frustrating, but it was in fact the opposite. Nothing was up to Bucky. He didn’t have to follow, to be aware, to be active. He could only wait for things to be done to him.

Unconsciously, he’d kept his wrists together, and Steve made a small amused noise when he came back with his rope to strap them.

“The thing is,” he said softly, tightening the knot, “I’ve never worked with a prosthetic before. I’ll need you to tell me if keeping your wrists pressed together like that is cutting off the blood flow in your right arm. Okay?”

Bucky thought it sounded totally sensible. Solid idea, good plan.

“Bucky?”

“Sorry. Yes,” Bucky rasped.

Steve said nothing for a moment; then he put a hand behind Bucky’s neck again. “You okay?” he said, thumb brushing his skin. “You’re going nonverbal.”

“Yes,” Bucky said again, with an intense effort. “Means—I’m good. Promise I’ll tell you if something’s wrong.”

Steve waited another second, then simply said, “Alright then,” and kissed Bucky’s cheek.

He slowly pushed him backwards, getting him to lie down on his back. Then he prompted him to arch up his hips until they were completely off the ground. Bucky’s upper body rested on his shoulders; his feet were flat on the mat.

“Don’t move,” Steve said in an off-handed tone, audibly rummaging in his ropes again.

Bucky stayed still, muscles straining to keep him in the bridge pose, feet firmly planted down. His bound hands were resting on his stomach; his thoughts were running unbidden. Was he going to stay like this for long? He worked out, he was confident in his ability to withhold punishing positions. And this was only the beginning of the scene, he still had his endurance.

So he held the pose, abs straining, while another rope was looped around his hips and upper thighs, fashioning a quick harness. Then Steve got up, bare feet shuffling on the mat. The rope slapped onto something wooden. Bucky held his breath.

And then his weight was partially gone. Steve had tied the rope to one of the exposed beams. That was what they were _for—_ sturdy, elegant anchor points, but most of all completely innocent for a random visitor.

Bucky realized his lips must have curled into a smile, because Steve was near his face again, brushing a few strands of hair from under the blindfold. “Yeah?” he said, amused. “Don’t worry, it’s just a partial suspension for today.”

It took Bucky a second to realize this was _still_ a predicament position; if he let his body sag, the harness would dig into his lower back, hard enough that he began arching up again without thinking, to relieve the tension. His shoulders still took most of his weight, though. He could easily hold it.

Steve didn’t seem to care whether Bucky was accepting his position or not—he took the slack hanging from Bucky’s bound wrists, and looped it around both of Bucky’s thighs, drawing them together. Bucky had to bring his knees in, keeping his feet apart for better balance; but then the rope kept going down his calves, tugged his ankles together too, and soon enough his legs were bound close from hip to toe, tight enough that it hurt.

Incidentally, it made it _much_ harder for Bucky to hold the bridge pose.

His thighs began to shake within seconds, taking him off guard. He tried to resist, to hold his body up, but the next second he began to droop, letting out a soundless breath when the harness bit into his body again. He tried fully letting go—he _was_ a masochist, he could choose to accept the pain, right?—but then his body started swaying to the left, because he was heavier on that side. He had to hold himself straight, tense up again. His abs trembled with tension.

Steve hummed, then grabbed the suspension rope and tugged up in a sudden, nasty jerk. Bucky startled and completely lost his balance, heels scrabbling on the mat. His breath was coming out in fast, shallow gasps.

“Doing okay, Buck?” Steve asked nonchalantly, waiting for him to regain purchase as if it had been an accident.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed, shaky.

He was getting inevitably hard. As his arms were extended, his bound hands were resting over his crotch, held there by the rope looping around his legs; it was as if he’d been allowed some kind of modesty. But really, this position meant he was forced to feel himself hardening under his fingers, unable to take his mind off it.

Steve uncoiled another bundle of rope and got to work on Bucky’s torso, wrapping the rope around it, pinning Bucky’s arms closer to his chest without care for symmetry or steadiness.

Bucky soon understood why. Steve wasn’t trying to do an elaborate tie; he just cared about looping several rows of rope around Bucky’s chest and arms, then tugging relentlessly, as hard as he could, tightening the bind until Bucky’s breath hitched with pain. This rope was single-rowed and easily bit into Bucky’s skin. Steve would hold it, then undo it and start again, digging a new pattern into his body. Bucky enjoyed the wraparound feel of it, enveloping, constricting, forcing him into stillness. Nothing to do but endure. It felt like a tight hug, like a slow punishment, like both of them at once.

The bridge pose was getting harder and harder to hold; Bucky began again to sag into the harness, helplessly, unable to keep himself arched up any longer, yet needing to keep a least a bit of control over his poise so he wouldn’t lilt to the side. He could feel the rope digging in; even a partial suspension left the deepest marks of all, he knew. They might even last for more than a day.

He was hard, pulsing erratically under his own fingers, feeling every moment of his own arousal. But it was a distant feeling, too, relegated to the back of his mind by the urgency of pain and the need for balance. Steve kept unwinding the rope around Bucky’s torso, then looping it around again, obviously relishing the way it cut off Bucky’s breath when he tugged it tight. He came to sit close, cupping Bucky’s face with his free hand.

“Alright?” he asked.

Bucky found he couldn’t speak at all anymore, but he nodded, best he could, and Steve kissed his cheek again with a satisfied little hum.

Bucky hazily wondered whether Steve would kiss him on the mouth. And then suddenly he wanted it more than anything. He turned his head like a flower seeking the sun, parting his lips. He hoped he wasn’t crossing a line. He needed it, couldn’t even tell why, it was a simple core want and he couldn’t help asking for it without words, straining in the harness.

He couldn’t see, but he felt Steve inching closer, and suddenly it happened—Steve kissed him, slow and languid, and Bucky moaned almost soundlessly in answer, to confirm that he wanted this, so much, opened his mouth and let Steve’s tongue in. He shifted minutely in his predicament tie; it was steadily escalating into complete torture, but Steve kissed him so sweet.

When he moved away, Bucky let out a shaky whine, prompting Steve to run a soothing hand through his long hair, never letting go of the rope binding Bucky’s chest and arms. It felt good now, steadying. Just like the rope looped around his legs. Bucky just couldn’t hold the pose anymore. The pain dug in as he lilted to the side again, inevitably, knowing he couldn’t get back up this time. It hurt so bad, but he could only take it, trying to catch his breath. Surrender spread through him. _You win,_ he thought at Steve _. You win._ He was submitting. He couldn’t fight anymore. Steve ran his fingers through his hair again, kissed his mouth, once, twice, and Bucky didn’t even know this guy an hour before, but in this moment he would have given his life to him, done anything for him. His thoughts had slipped their moorings, spreading in every direction through his mind like ripples in a pond, _please, you can take it all, I’ll give it all to you,_ so eager to show how ready he was, how pliant he would be, imagining a thousand fantasies at once, Steve using his ass, his mouth, _anything, anything, I can do anything for you,_ it was incredible, this complete openness, this absolute acceptance, leading down underwater where there were no more thoughts, only sensations.

Steve kissed Bucky once more, made it deep and wet, tugging hard at his hair to crane his head back again, and Bucky moaned in his mouth, happy to be taken, to be consumed, if only in this small way. He was iron hard under his own fingers, restless with constant pain, drunk with endorphins.

Then Steve murmured, so quietly, so close to him, “Okay to come down?”

It threw Bucky for a loop—for Steve to check whether Bucky wanted to _go on_ , not just whether he wanted to stop.

As his thoughts floated back into a semblance of order, Bucky realized his spine was starting to ache from being arched for so long, and he was tired, infinitely tired, his earlier nervousness burnt up by the physical exertion, all of it whirling away in a snowstorm in his mind. The hips harness seriously hurt, too, digging into his back muscles.

“Think so,” he slurred, surprising himself with how hoarse, how small he sounded.

Steve kissed him on the forehead and got up. Bucky felt a strange mix of emotions—anticipated relief and yet disappointment that it was over. There was this old joke when he was a kid, _a crazy guy keeps hitting himself with a hammer, another one walks by and asks, “Why’re you doing this?” and he says, “Because it feels so good when I stop!”_ Funny, everyone laughs, but as an adult Bucky had discovered how true it was, how deeply satisfying it could feel to push yourself only to let go afterwards. Working out, going for a run, it all counted—but this, best of all, _this,_ having suffered not to stay healthy or lose weight but just _because,_ only as a gift, as an exchange of power, and Steve had taken what he wanted, had watched as Bucky strained and suffered, had kissed him while he panted shallow breaths, and shook with his whole body. And now Steve was untying the rope, bringing Bucky’s hips down, bit by bit, until he was resting on the mat, still tightly restrained but no longer in a predicament pose, exhaling a deep lungful of air.

Steve sat next to him and helped Bucky rest his head in his lap. Completely shameless, Bucky turned his face into Steve’s hip with a cat-like sigh. He was too far down to worry about how he looked like. Being blindfolded helped a lot with that.

They stayed like that for a while, Steve running his hands along the ropes binding Bucky’s body, pulling at them, dragging them, digging the pain into him. Bucky hummed with pleasure every time. He was breathing more and more slowly, rippling pond fading into stillness. Steve’s fingers were tracing his features now. His nose, his cheekbones, his chin, the line of his jaw. It felt wonderful, to feel him so intensely focused on _Bucky_ and nothing else. It felt like nothing existed out of the both of them, out of their attention for each other. Bucky still thought at him _I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours,_ like Steve could pick up on it, read his mind, see it written on his face.

When Steve began untying him at last, Bucky was ready for it, floating and pliant, completely at peace. He didn’t move at all, focused on the delicious ache where the ropes had dug in, knowing there were marks to show for it on his limbs. Steve undid the wraparound on his chest and arms first; then, very delicately, he lifted Bucky’s head from his lap to let it rest on the mat, then got up and went to free his legs. When he was done, he untied the harness, which had dug the most deeply—and which felt the most amazing when it came off, leaving deep engravings behind.

Then Steve was back, slipping an arm under Bucky’s shoulders.

“Hey, pal. Think you can sit?”

Bucky was heady and warm, but he sat up. _Anything, anything for you._ It was strange to have his wrists free, to be able to use his hands. He felt a pang when Steve carefully untied the blindfold; but then it was done, and Bucky cautiously blinked in the dim light, taking in the white couch, the rattan chairs, the pinewood dressers, like they were artifacts from an alien planet and he’d never seen them before.

When he was done blinking at the furniture, Bucky looked at Steve himself, wanting to know if it was the same for him, if everything had changed from one moment to the next. Steve looked back with his clear blue eyes and smiled. He was glowing with his own light.

“You okay?”

Bucky realized he was smiling, too, couldn’t help it. He wanted to hug him, and he must have leaned forward because Steve met him half-way, wrapping his skinny arms around Bucky’s bulky frame, burying his nose in Bucky’s hair with a happy sigh.

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbled.

“Thank _you.”_

“It was—” Bucky shouldn’t babble, but he needed to let him know, “It was… Wow. Just…”

“Amazing,” Steve said wholeheartedly. “Especially for a first scene. You went so deep, so fast.”

It made Bucky laugh, to hear the warmth and the wonder in Steve’s voice, to know he had really loved it like Bucky had.

“M’sorry I was so nervous,” he said, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Hey, don’t say sorry. It’s totally normal. I was a bit anxious too, you know.”

But really Bucky was apologizing for dragging his feet earlier. Maybe he was still down in his submissive depths, but he hadn’t stopped his mental chanting of _anything, anything, anything you want._ He was ready to give himself body and soul. It didn’t even scare him—he knew it would wear off, like the high it was. For now he could still enjoy it, still float for a few minutes more. Steve smelled really nice, and his thumbs were tracing little circles into Bucky’s skin.

 

*

 

They had to unwrap from each other eventually. Bucky felt sated, settled—he could let go now, without feeling like he was going to fly apart.

“I’m gonna get some more tea going,” Steve said, getting up. “You take your time.”

Bucky smiled at him, then took a deep breath and stretched like he was waking up from a long nap. He was pleasantly groggy, completely lax. After a little while of just sitting there, he got up and walked the few steps to the couch. A blanket had conveniently appeared on the pillows, and Bucky draped it over his shoulders, burrowing in the cushions.

The tea was done. Instead of sitting on the other side of the coffee table, Steve sat on the couch with him, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. Bucky, who was staring at his own wrists, showed him the rope marks with a wordless smile.

“They’re so neat,” Steve said, sounding as satisfied as Bucky felt. “You mark really well. Your chest, too—even though it wasn’t even a fixed tie.”

“It’s a gift.” Bucky drank some tea; it was chai again, and the faint burn of it woke him up a bit more. “It’s cool that you do aftercare, too.”

“Can’t do without, Buck,” Steve said, blowing on his own tea. “And you shouldn’t either.”

“Well, you’ll be able to make sure I don’t.”

Steve beamed at him. “So you’ll be coming back?”

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky said with an incredulous laugh. He wasn’t even sure why he was so affected—Steve hadn’t done anything _extreme_ to him, even if some might say that a semi-suspension on a first encounter was a bit daring.

But somehow it just fit _._ His gestures, his words, the way he’d known how to make Bucky feel both safe and at the mercy of someone who genuinely relished his predicament _._ He had seen Bucky so nervous, known what he needed, a simple but demanding posture so he’d exert himself quickly, burn off all of his anxiety.  

“Good,” Steve said, smiling into his tea. “That’s good.”

They drank tea in comfortable silence for a while. Then Steve cleared his throat again. “Anything you didn’t like?”

Bucky had learned his lesson and took his time to answer, looking at the dancing lights in his cup. Part of him wanted to say _you could have done more, so much more to me,_ but that was the fading delirium of his submissive core. In truth he knew it was better to pace himself, especially since he hoped to make this last.

“No, it was all great,” he said eventually. “My back was getting a bit sore by the end, I guess? But that was just when you offered to bring me down.”

“Good,” Steve repeated. “And—um—” He fumbled a little with his cup. “Was it okay to kiss you?”

Bucky looked at him. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

“I figured. Just making sure.”

“Was it okay to want you to kiss _me?”_

“Yeah. Yes, of course.”

Steve finished his tea a bit too quickly, then set his cup down.

“How are you getting home?”

“Oh,” Bucky said, only just realizing it was dark out. He’d forgotten how easy it was to lose sense of time during a scene. “With the G train.”

“Ah, that’s great. I don’t know about you, but I’m happy not to drive after a scene.”

“Don’t have a car anyway.”

While he dressed, Steve brought back the clinking tray to the kitchen; then he walked Bucky to the door, still barefoot. He looked happy but as tired as Bucky.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he said. “Are you free next week? Thursday, 7pm again?”

“Yeah, sounds great.” Bucky slipped on his gloves, then stepped out into the hallway. Then he froze. “Hold on—” He turned round. “Shit, wait!”

“What is it?”

“I—” Bucky wasn’t sure how to say this. “I completely forgot. Um. I haven’t paid you? We totally—we didn’t discuss money at all.”

Steve relaxed. “Oh, that. Don’t worry, we can talk about it next time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t like to bring up money on the first day.” Steve smiled. “You’re coming back, right?”

Bucky wanted to point out that it was a terrible way to run a business, but he stupidly smiled back instead. “Yeah, I am.”

“Great. Next week, then.”

Steve was still pretty much a stranger, yet Bucky wanted to hug him goodnight. He shook himself. This was the intimacy of the scene still clinging to him. Maybe Steve would have genuinely liked it, or maybe he would have weathered it with a smile, privately wishing Bucky would just hurry up and leave already.

So Bucky stepped back and waved. “So… bye, Steve.”

“Night, Buck.”

After the gilded doors of the elevator had closed, Bucky tugged up his right sleeve to look at the rope marks again. He already wanted to come back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me squee in joy! :D Next chapter on Monday.
> 
> Go visit the awesome [Riakomai](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/) on her Tumblr!


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

 _“Steve Rogers?_ You kidding?”

“You know him?” Bucky said, surprised.

“Of course I—” Sam turned to Natasha with a clear _what the fuck_ look on his face. “You sent him to _Steve?_ Are you for real?”

“He can handle it,” Natasha said coolly.

“Like hell. Rogers is fucking _intense._ Like, he’s a nice guy and all, no question, but he’s the worst sadist I ever met.”

“Hey,” Bucky protested. “Maybe I’m the worst masochist you’ve ever met.”

Sam just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. Bucky opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but Natasha cut him off.

“You guys ever do events together?” she asked Sam.

“Oh yeah, I was his rope model for the Demonia Night in Paris. He made me scream so loud everyone turned to watch.”

“Nice.”

Bucky glared into his coffee. It wasn’t his fault he was such a newbie that Steve hadn’t gotten out the big guns on the first day. They were building up to it. Taking their time. Nothing wrong with that.

“Aw, he’s jealous,” Sam grinned.

“In your dreams, Wilson.”

“Nice comeback, you’re doing great. Hey, what about you, Nat? You and Steve met at a kink thing too, right?”

“That’s usually how people like us meet, yeah.” Natasha took a sip of her caramel macchiato. “It was three years ago, I think—he’s been one of my best friends since then.”

Bucky blinked. He had lost track of Natasha after college, and they’d only reconnected after his accident, which meant there were huge chunks of her life he didn’t know about. Now that they were roommates, Bucky kept finding out new things about her at the most unexpected moments. And of course he knew Natasha wouldn’t recommend just anyone to him; but all the same, she didn’t call many people her friends.

“So—did you guys play together too?” he asked.

“With Steve? Oh, no, we’re not compatible at all,” she said. “I’m very fetish-oriented, and I like high protocol. That’s just not his thing.”

Bucky remembered Steve’s dungeon. Yeah, clearly, latex and ballet boots weren’t part of his priorities. Also he’d cheerfully waved away Bucky’s honorific—and Bucky hadn’t even felt the urge to call him _sir_ again after that. Steve’s bare feet, his simple clothes gave off a vibe that was completely different from Natasha’s, sitting there with flawless eyeliner and smoothly curled hair.

“Don’t worry, Barnes,” Sam said, sipping his drink. “You and Steve will do great together. If you don’t run away first.”

Bucky knew Sam was just yanking his chain, but he prickled all the same. “We already played once and I was fine.”

Sam waved a hand in dismissal. “Steve’s an excellent Dom, he wasn’t gonna destroy your ass on the first day. But just wait for what comes next.”

“Bet he’s looking forward to it,” Natasha said.

She was used to defusing their bickering, and it worked again this time. Despite his annoyance, Bucky couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, I kind of am, actually.”

“Ever think we’re all completely insane?” Sam said cheerfully.

“All the time.”

“Amen to that.”

 

*

 

It was fun to _say_ so—fun to boast that they were freaks, trying to out-kink each other, to weird out vanilla friends with grand tales of perversion. But deep down Bucky felt perfectly ordinary. He had always been like this. It was what counted as normal to him.

His orientation didn’t trace back to any traumatic event, thank you very much. Bucky remembered watching TV as a kid, waiting for when Batman got captured and put in a cartoon jail to be taunted by the villain; the physical fact of his captivity, the thick iron bars he grasped with both hands in true eighties fashion—those parts made Bucky sit straighter, his heart beat faster. Then Batman invariably broke free, and strangely enough Bucky liked those moments too, the reassurance that no matter what trials the hero went through, he was always safe at the end. Never in any real danger. Only just enough to make it exciting. He dreamed of people getting captured, getting hurt, but then getting freed, too, comforted, _it’s over now, I got you, it’s over._

He had grown up thinking everyone felt that same thrill. The realization that they didn’t had started on the day they’d all gone to see _Pirates of the Caribbean 2,_ and Bucky had teased the girls about how much they must have enjoyed that whipping scene—only to get odd looks in return.

“That’s not _hot,”_ one of them had said. “It’s, like, a _torture_ scene.”

Bucky’s stomach had swooped a little just hearing the word. But of course he’d shrugged and laughed it off, saying something about Orlando Bloom’s muscled back. It had all been forgotten soon enough. Everyone said awkward shit in high school.

Even now, as an adult man in his thirties, Bucky had trouble understanding the concept of vanilla sex. Sometimes he forgot most people genuinely enjoyed it. It did absolutely nothing for him; of course he’d tried it, because you always tried the _normal stuff_ first _,_ but most of the time he couldn’t even get hard. And when he did, it was mechanical and tasteless, a lot of work for unsatisfying orgasms in the end, if he got there at all.

After he’d stopped trying, his sex life had improved markedly in quality—but decreased a lot in frequency. It was like he’d told Steve. First, he had a hard time reconciling play and dating, and second, well. Kink was not the only thing in his life. There was his work, his friends, his family, and of course the Fucking Arm.

So yeah, maybe a sex worker really was the way to go. Bucky still felt uncertain at the concept, prodding it carefully in his mind, trying to get used to it. But now, all he had to do was phrase it differently— _Steve’s the way to go—_ and he was reassured.

 

*

 

“Wow,” Tony said, leaning on the piece of fuselage Bucky worked on. _“Someone_ got laid.”

“Don’t touch that thing, Stark,” Bucky grunted from the floor, where he was lying on his back, holding the blowtorch in his metal hand.

“Why not? We’re gonna blow it up anyway.”

Bucky had the coolest job in the world—on paper at least. _Rocket crash-testing engineer!_ But sometimes it was a bit disheartening to watch his creations get invariably destroyed by a very gleeful Tony.

“Seriously, Bucky Bear, who made sweet love to you last night? Look at you! You’re almost _mellow.”_

“Well, thank God you’re here to set me back to factory settings,” Bucky mumbled.

He shifted under his piece of fuselage. As expected, the ropes had left bruises on his hips, and his entire body was stiff and sore from straining so desperately in the semi-suspension. His lips quirked up as he turned on his welding torch again—post-scene aches were the gift that kept on giving.

“You’re _smiling,”_ Tony squeaked, fumbling for his phone. “Must—record—for—blackmail—!”

Bucky gave him the finger, but by doing so he caught sight of the faded rope marks on his wrist, and he couldn’t quite stop smiling despite his best efforts.

“Oh, God, I’m actually right about this,” Tony said, filming. “C’mon, spill the beans. The good American people deserve to know. Hook-up? Boyfriend? Incredibly vivid sex dream?”

It had to be said for Tony—his nagging never veered close to homophobia. Ever since Bucky had come out to him a few months ago, the guy had been perfectly decent about it. All the same, he didn’t know about the kink and he never would, God willing. Bucky wasn’t ashamed of himself, but he was already being sexualized enough over the gay thing. If he came out about the rest, people would forever think about his bedroom habits wherever he went. Never mind that BDSM and sex were two separate things, to him anyway.

Bucky rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Alright, put the phone away, I’m done here. Go do your thing.”

Tony instantly forgot all about Bucky’s sex life—nothing like making stuff explode to distract him from the matter at hand. He still made a point of squinting at Bucky as he wheeled the piece of fuselage away. Bucky calmly stared back. The rope marks on his body were too faint to be spotted by someone who didn’t already know to look for them.

When he was younger he used to fantasize about someone finding out. Impress them, shock them, fascinate them. But now that he worked in a field he liked, he’d sobered up and didn’t want anything to jeopardize the life he’d built for himself.

 _Hook-up? Boyfriend?_ Bucky idly watched as Tony left the room. Well, of course not _boyfriend_. But—not just a money thing either. He didn’t think so. He hoped not.

 

*

 

“Okay, so first things first, you definitely need a safeword,” Steve said, pouring tea. “You’re kinda big on the nonverbal thing.”

“…I’m sorry?” Bucky said, blinking uncertainly.

“Ain’t no sorry, Buck. It was real nice, you going so deep, so fast.” Steve grinned. “Kinda flattering.”

Bucky gave an embarrassed smile and looked down into his cup of tea. He’d only been there for two minutes, but somehow he was already getting into his pliant mindset.

He shook himself. He may be a sub, but he didn’t want to passively wait for Steve to do all the work. “Okay,” he said. “So... we could… there’s the traffic lights system?”

Steve wrinkled his nose, which was adorable. And _that_ wasn’t a word Bucky thought he’d ever associate with his Dom. But, hey. Open mind and all.

“Eh, it’s not my favorite, especially not for nonverbal subs. Long as we’re not roleplaying, _yes_ and _no_ will come easier to you than _green_ and _red,_ y’know?” Steve shifted on the couch, folding his leg under him. _“_ And _yellow_ is too vague—you always gotta explain what you mean by it, kind of defeats the purpose.”

“Oh yeah. That makes sense.” Damn if Steve’s easy competence wasn’t doing it for him. “So then, what…?”

“Counting system,” Steve said brightly. “Something like— _on a scale of 1 to 10, how close are you to your limit?_ That way I can check where you’re at, without too much talk. And if you’re at 5 but then you get your second wind, you can always say 3 next time I ask you.”

“Oh. Wow. Yeah, it sounds—it does sound like it could work pretty okay for me.”

“I think so too. Doubling up on that, a regular safeword, just in case. And plain old English to top it off.”

“You really like those layers, huh.”

“Sure. That way I know it’s safe to really go to town.” Steve smiled at him, all angelic.

God, Bucky wanted to stop talking and dive into the scene right now. He drank some more tea.

“Okay, so gimme a safeword,” Steve said.

“Um.” Bucky looked around the room for inspiration. ‘Table’ or ‘chair’ probably wouldn’t cut it.

He thought of the old Russian film Nat had made him watch while he moped on her couch (he swore she chose the most unwatchable things so he would stop moping on her couch so much). What was the title of that goddamn movie? Certainly he would associate it with something he wanted to end.

 _Paper Soldier._ That’s what it was. He couldn’t remember the Russian word for _paper,_ only that it was weird and foreign-sounding, but the _soldier_ one had stuck.

“ _Soldat?”_ he said.

Steve made him repeat, agreed that a word in another language was a great idea, then jotted it down. This time he wasn’t writing on a form, but in a little notebook. Bucky wondered what it said—was there a page for every one of Steve’s clients? _Preferences, hard limits, safewords?_ The thought was kind of arousing—to be catalogued and processed like that—but also a bit disheartening outside of the kinky mindset.

He put it out of his mind. A lot of people in BDSM had multiple partners. Besides, this was Steve’s _job._ Bucky didn’t want to be the creepy stalker client.

“Okay,” Steve said. He fidgeted for a moment, then cleared his throat. “So, last time, you said—you wanted to talk about money?”

Bucky blinked. It was kind of a weird way to put it. “Yeah. Do you… not want me to pay you?”

Steve gave him an embarrassed smile. “It just—that part always feels weird. Especially with clients like you. People who genuinely want to build something with me. If you wanted a tailor-made fantasy, it’d make more sense, but—no, I get to play with you and I’m being paid for the privilege.”

Bucky tried not to say anything, he really did, but his lips were quirking up already. “You _get_ to play with me?”

Steve _blushed._ The big bad Dom. “Just—you want me to hurt you—and you’re not hard on the eyes, alright? It’s not that common to have both at once, is all—oh, shut up,” he said when Bucky preened. “The money, let’s go back to the money.”

“Sure, if that’s really what you wanna talk about.” Bucky was grinning—but then he caught himself and paused. What was he doing? This was flirty Bucky. He wasn’t trying to date Steve.

Thankfully, Steve also seemed intent on steering the conversation back to safer waters. “No, seriously, let’s. My student loans won’t pay themselves back.”

Bucky blinked. Somehow he hadn’t imagined Steve had gone to college. But of course he had. It was like he’d said—he was just a guy.

Just like Bucky.

“I thought you were doing this full-time?” he still said.

“Kinda? I majored in art.” Steve shrugged. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to focus on that, but all I got so far is a semi-regular online comic and a few freelance gigs. I didn’t set out to be a pro Dom. It just kind of happened. But I like it, and right now it pays the bills.”

He flipped a page in his notebook again. “So—I don’t know, how much do you want to pay me?”

Bucky stared at him. “Dude, you need an accountant or something.”

“I have a system going on, okay?”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Seriously! It’s like I said—it’s easier for one-time clients. You want something really big and really specific, I’ll charge you a thousand bucks and I won’t lose any sleep over it. But you’re—you’re—” Steve was blushing again. “You’re planning on coming back, so—I can’t bleed you dry. We need to agree on how often and how much...”

His voice trailed off.

“I like the idea of a weekly thing?” Bucky said eventually. “That’s where we’re headed anyway. Right?”

“Sure,” Steve said, seeming relieved. “Yeah, that works for me, too. Every Thursday night, then? And—let’s say…”

He hesitated for a long time.

“I don’t know. Fifty bucks?”

“Per _week?_ A hundred, c’mon. Respect yourself.”

“That’s four hundred bucks a month.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky deadpanned. “It’s okay, I can afford it.”

“Is that so.”

“It _is_ so. I’m a rocket scientist, I’ll have you know.”

Steve blinked.

“I’m—I’m a rocket engineer,” Bucky amended. “Or like—a crash-test engineer. For rockets. Bits of rockets. Sometimes planes. Or cars. Anyway, unlike _some people,_ I know how to handle my finances. I’m telling you, I can afford this.”

“Alright, alright. A hundred it is.”

“Still feels like I’m ripping you off.”

Steve smiled at him, with luminous blue eyes. “Then the feeling’s mutual.”

 

*

 

Bucky had drunk a lot of tea to keep his hands busy—he was going to be hydrated as _fuck_ if they kept this up—and excused himself to the bathroom. It was just like the rest of this place: welcoming but bland, kind of hotel-like.

Bucky thought of the other doors in the hallway. All closed. It made sense that Steve’s clients couldn’t go everywhere.

He washed his hands, then dried them on his jeans as he came out of the bathroom. “So, are we done for today, or…”

Steve, who’d been putting the teacups away, smiled at him from the kitchen. “It’s only 8pm. You already had dinner, right? Are you feeling up for play?”

Bucky immediately perked up. “You bet.”

“Okay. You wanna undress for me?”

Bucky shucked off his shirt and opened his pants instead of answering. Hell yeah he was feeling up for it. He’d waited for this all fucking week.

“We doing rope again?” he asked, pulling off his socks.

Steve, who was wandering in the living room, looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Don’t know yet.”

Bucky kicked off his pants, then hesitated. “Underwear too?”

“Nah. Keep ‘em on.”

“Okay.”

Steve tilted his head to the side. “You don’t sound disappointed.”

Bucky shrugged. “I do like fucking, don’t get me wrong. But I like subbing more.”

Steve walked closer to him, making Bucky increasingly aware that he was standing there in his boxers. Of course it was a dungeon, but it didn’t _look_ like one. It was like Bucky had gotten undressed in stranger’s home, embarrassed to be seen. This self-conscious feeling was probably intentional. Bucky was beginning to understand that Steve was something of a strategist.

“Huh,” Steve said.

He reached out and tugged at Bucky’s waistband. Bucky almost stepped forward but stayed still, allowing Steve to stretch the cloth, exposing the hair trailing down.

“So fucking and subbing aren’t the same thing to you?”

“I… no.” Bucky swallowed when Steve pulled his underwear just an inch down. “Sex can sort of… get in the way sometimes. You know? All you want is to come and you can’t pay attention to anything else…”

Steve tugged his boxers an inch lower, and smiled at him. “I really think we’re gonna get along just fine, Buck.”

“I’m—glad,” Bucky croaked. For all his non-sex talk, he was getting more and more riled up.

Then Steve withdrew his hand. “Do you mind shaving?”

“Do I—what?”

“Shaving down there. I like my subs to be as naked as possible.”

Bucky struggled for control of his brain. Steve staying stuff like that while looking all earnest and casual—just, it made it hard to focus.

“I don’t… mind,” he managed.

“Neat,” Steve said, with a twinkle in his eye. “Careful, though. Now that you agreed, if I strip you naked one day and you’re not shaved, you’ll regret it.”

Bucky blinked. “And—when will I start getting naked?”

“Who knows?” Steve shrugged, the complete asshole. Then, “Okay, I’ve decided what I’m gonna do with you. Don’t move.”

He walked away to open one of his drawers, leaving Bucky there to figure out that he’d just agreed to shave on the regular, _just in case_ Steve felt like fucking him one day.

Okay, okay, fuck. To hell with that kink-over-sex thing. Bucky needed to come _now._

But he was still pretty sure he wouldn’t get it tonight—and Christ, that made him even harder _._ He was doomed. And the scene hadn’t even started yet. Sam was an asshole but he was also right: Steve was going to destroy him.

“Okay, get down on your knees,” Steve said cheerfully, coming back with a shoebox.

Bucky quickly complied, feeling a pleasant stir in his stomach. He loved kneeling down. There was no better way to feel like he’d been put in his place. And then his stomach swooped again when Steve opened the box: inside were thick black leather cuffs, with solid steel clips.

He grinned at Steve, who smiled back as he strapped the cuffs around his wrists. When he was done, he framed Bucky’s face in his hands, thumbing at his cheekbones.

“Too tight?”

“Just fine,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve kissed him. Bucky opened his mouth, hummed when the kiss went deep. He was still hard, very much so. Of course, arousal felt good, but he still half-wished it would go away. He didn’t want this to turn into sex. Would it turn into sex? His body and his mind were going in two different directions at once.

“Okay, stay here,” Steve said, going to the kitchen area. Bucky complied, kneeling on the hardwood floor. He wanted to turn his head, to look at what Steve was doing, but he didn’t dare. No blindfold today; it kept him alert. Sinking down like the last time wouldn’t be as easy.

Steve came back with a bundle of rope and a stool. He set it down, climbed on it, and tied the rope to an exposed beam, just like the week before.

“Get up,” he ordered.

Bucky got to his feet, then held out his cuffed wrists and watched hungrily as Steve looped the rope around the steel clips.

“Will that put too much strain on your shoulder?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. “No, it’s fine—”

Steve pulled on the rope and Bucky sucked in a breath, wrists going up over his head. Steve tugged until he had Bucky standing up and fully stretched out; then he tied a knot, hopped back down and headed back to the kitchen, taking the stool with him.

He wasn’t even hurrying. Why would he? He had all the time in the world to set up his scene, with Bucky as the centerpiece. Bucky could only wait, strung-up and half-naked, still so hard he was tenting his underwear.

He heard Steve putting back the stool; then a drawer opened and closed. When Steve came back into his line of sight, he was holding a spreader bar. Bucky’s cock twitched at the sight, wetting the front of his boxers.

So much for cooling down.

He was perfectly compliant when Steve fitted the bars to his ankles, tightening the leather cuffs matching the ones on Bucky’s wrists. Bucky was surprised by the length of the bar—he had to really open up, expose himself, and his cheeks were flushing hot. _Is he actually going to fuck me? Did he change his mind?_

He was so erect it was embarrassing. He closed his eyes hard for a few seconds, trying to keep it together, to think pure thoughts, but it was pretty difficult in his position. He tugged on the cuffs. They were evenly padded; he could probably stay here for an hour, maybe two. What if he stayed hard all that time? He was so riled up now, he didn’t think he could flag anytime soon.

Steve had gone back to another dresser and got out something else, wrapped in black velvet. He tucked it under his arm, then walked back to Bucky, standing in front of him.

He stared at him for a second, then brushed two fingers up the straining line of his dick, through his underwear. Bucky flinched violently, cuffs clinking over his head. Oh God. Whatever happened now, it was going to be very humiliating for him.

Steve watched him, still tracing him through the thin black cotton.

“I thought you didn’t want to have sex today?”

“I’m—I’m not doing it on _purpose,”_ Bucky managed.

“It’s okay.” Steve flicked him. “I’ll help.”

This time, when he walked to the kitchen, Bucky almost twisted round to look at him, because what did _that_ mean, exactly?

But then he heard Steve opening the fridge—and he had his answer.

“ _Fuck.”_ He twisted awkwardly, hindered by the spreader bar. “You’re not serious!”

Steve was coming back, grinning, holding a bag of frozen peas. “Aw, are you trying to close your legs?”

“Please—”

“Hey, you’re the one who said you didn’t want to be distracted. I’m just making it happen.”

And he pressed the frozen bag to Bucky’s crotch.

The ice seared into him, making him moan and twitch and try to escape, to no avail. His balls were tightening and going up already, but his erection bravely held on; and so Steve wrapped the bag around his cock, pressing it against him. Even through his underwear, it hurt like _fuck,_ and Bucky struggled helplessly, unable to move away, legs held firmly open by the spreader bar—he was panting out pitiful noises, couldn’t help it despite his best efforts. It was only two minutes before he was soft again.

Steve moved the bag away, beaming. “Glad I could help.”

“Jesus _fuck,”_ Bucky gasped.

He hung in the cuffs while Steve put the frozen bag away. By the time he came back from the kitchen, Bucky had recovered enough to stand up with a little more dignity, though he was still breathless. His left arm realized it was going to stay up for some time and recalibrated, plates shifting one after the other.

“Ready now, or do you need any more adjustments?” Steve said with nonchalance.

“I’m—I’m good,” Bucky said hurriedly.

“Great.” Steve took the velvet-wrapped thing he’d brought.

Bucky’s eyes widened when the cloth came off. It was two floggers, one of them made of soft suede and the other one of sleek, shining latex. He instantly perked up again.

“Yeah?” Steve grinned, noticing at once.

Bucky could feel himself practically vibrating with want. He’d only been flogged once, at the fetish club, for about three minutes. Best fucking three minutes of the night. He’d dreamed of it a _lot_ afterwards.

Steve moved behind him. “Safeword, numbers, plain old English? Are we good?”

“Yep.” Bucky squared his stance as best as he could. “Hit me.”

The first blow came down hard—Bucky’s breath rushed out of him. It didn’t sting; all together, the suede lashes produced more of a _thump_ across this back. Steve got into a semi-regular rhythm, and Bucky focused on his breathing, on his muscles, trying not to build up tension, relaxing between each blow. He wanted this to last. Right now it didn’t seem impossible. The flogging was far from unbearable, and maybe even pleasant in a vanilla way, like a deep massage. Bucky rolled his shoulders, let his head hung forward and breathed out.

After ten minutes, he started feeling the lashes a bit more; Steve had gathered some of them in his hand, hitting Bucky only with half to reduce the thumping effect. When he took a break, Bucky’s breath whooshed out of him—despite himself, he had been tensing up. While not exactly torture, it was still an effort of endurance.

“Give me a number?” Steve asked.

Bucky was breathing hard but didn’t need to think twice. “One, c’mon. Is that all you got?”

Steve laughed, then hit him _hard,_ with only half the lashes again, putting all his strength into it. Bucky arched and gritted his teeth. _“Fuck_ yes.”

“God, I love masochists,” Steve said.

Then he picked up the pace for another ten minutes. By the time they paused again, Bucky’s back was hot and red, though he didn’t think he had lash marks—the suede was too soft for that. He still twitched when Steve rubbed his back with both hands.

“Where are you?”

“One,” Bucky insisted, breathier than before. His thoughts were getting woozy, though it wasn’t the deep fast plunge of last time.

“Your shoulders okay?”

“Yeah. All good.”

Steve snaked a hand around his hips to grab his junk, making him jump. “Getting hard? I can ice you again.”

“No—” Bucky squirmed. “C’mon, I’m—I’m good.”

This wasn’t even about pain; he didn’t want to lose the rhythm they were building, and he knew Steve wouldn’t want that either.

“Yeah, you are. Alright.” Steve stepped back to strike again—

And this time Bucky jerked violently, rattling the clips of his cuffs, straining against the spreader bar. A scream got caught in his throat—his mind whited out for a second—then the pain faded back to tolerable levels.

He sagged, tried to straighten up, still reeling. _“Jesus—_ what—”

“Oh yeah. I moved to the latex one,” Steve said, smug. “Stings a bit more, right?”

Bucky couldn’t answer, too out of breath.

“Okay to go on?”

He nodded deliriously. _Please more more more more._ The suede flogger had worked him into a pleasant doze; but the latex one was waking him the _fuck_ up.

Steve hit him again—then again, again, again. This flogger was so brutal he had to go back to a slower pace, holding back. But the warm-up helped, and soon enough he'd built up to a steady rhythm again. Within minutes Bucky was lost to the red-hot haze of torture. He was in so much pain he couldn’t think further than the next blow. He still wasn’t shouting, not exactly, but he bit back cries through gritted teeth, pulling at his cuffs. His muscles kept tensing; he had to remind himself again and again to relax and just take it.

When Steve stopped, Bucky let out a deep breath, shaking with all his body. His eyes were watering.

“Where are you now?” Steve asked.

Bucky tried to catch his breath. “I—I d-don’t know. F-four?”

“Alright.” Steve’s voice was soft. He stepped close and hugged Bucky one-armed, from behind. “You really like that, huh?”

Bucky gave a shaky laugh, a shaky nod. Steve leaned around him and pulled him down for a short, hot kiss. Then he stepped back.

“Okay, let’s take a little detour.”

Before Bucky could wonder what that meant, Steve brought the flogger down on his thighs. Bucky jumped and tried to close his legs—to no avail, of course. He was held firmly open. He didn’t stop struggling, though, because it was part of the fun, to fight the unbending spreader bar, squirming desperately as Steve lashed the back of his legs.

Steve stopped to let him breathe, and took the opportunity to step closer again, bringing the flogger’s handle under Bucky’s balls.

“While we’re at it, for future reference. You seemed to enjoy the ice, so.” He pressed harder through the underwear. “Cock and ball torture? Yes or no?”

It was a good thing Bucky was in too much pain to get hard again.

“U-uh,” he gasped. “Y-yeah. Yes. B-but—”

“I didn’t mean right now, don’t worry,” Steve laughed. “Okay, let’s keep going.”

He started working on Bucky’s back again. Bucky was surprised—the brief pause had allowed his body to settle into a higher stage of pain tolerance, and it was suddenly much easier to take the flogging. The latex flogger was perfect, the sting just right, just on this side of unbearable. He could feel stripes burning on his back. The pain echoed in his entire body like a hot bath—it hurt at first but then it spread warmth into his limbs, loosening them, breaking his resistance bit by bit.

Steve must think Bucky was ready for the big leagues now; without a warning, he started hitting with all his strength, blasting all of Bucky’s thoughts out of his mind.

He started to scream for good, then. Part of him just made the noise; another part listened rapturously. _That’s me._ It amazed him—to be able to withstand torture to such an incredible extent. It _was_ torture. He was shouting now. And yet his mind was riding the wave, far removed from the distress of his body, enjoying it, watching it like the great performance it was. _Look at what I’m doing. Look at what I’m taking. How come I’m capable of this?_ What a strange ability—not only to take the pain, but to _enjoy_ it. What a twisted superpower.

Steve kept whipping him. Bucky was losing his breath. It had been a while since the last break, but maybe he just had to wait, maybe Steve was about to—yes. A break. Bucky stammered out a number. But then it started _again,_ too soon, and Bucky was crying out every three blows, struggling with real desperation now, he wasn’t ready yet, he couldn’t catch up to—he couldn’t—

 _“Wait,”_ he shouted, voice cracking. “Wait, wait, just, please.”

God he was shaking so hard. He gasped for air, gathered himself, stepped back from the edge.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked.

“Yes. J-just—” Only ten seconds more. Deep breath. _In and out._ The flare of pain faded back into a buzz under his skin. There. There. He was good to go.

“Okay,” he panted. “Okay now, thanks.”

Steve stepped close and kissed him again.

Bucky almost teared up. He kissed back and realized it was happening now—his mind settling into deep silence. It had taken longer to happen, but he was sinking hard and fast now. _Anything for you._ Steve was listening. He was hurting Bucky, but he wasn’t harming him. He was there, it was true, he was listening, Bucky was safe, free to be pushed as far as he could take. His heart was swelling with gratitude, with something close to adoration. _Anything. You can have it all._

“Ready?” Steve said against his lips.

He nodded. _Yes yes yes._ It started again.

The flare of endorphins had made Bucky rise to yet another level of pain tolerance. A place of complete silence, a smooth open road, the feeling that he could last for hours and hours. Flying, every strike of the whip a gush of wind under his wings, propelling him higher. He lost time, slurring out numbers whenever Steve asked. He fell back to _six,_ then got up to _seven_ again and stuck to it for a long while. Then, as fatigue settled in, _eight._ And finally, when his shoulders started aching and his legs started shaking, _nine._ He was tired, gleaming with sweat. It was a shame. He wished he could have lasted forever.

“Nine, huh,” Steve murmured. “Okay. Fifteen more lashes and we’re done?”

Bucky liked this. Having a clear goal. Last race to the finish line. He couldn’t really speak anymore, but nodded again.

“You’ve been amazing, Buck.” Was Steve’s voice shaking? “Fifteen lashes. Let’s do it.”

He did.   _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ They weren’t gentle blows either; with every crack of the latex, Bucky’s entire body jerked. _Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten._ Steve gave him a minute to breathe. _Ready?_ Bucky would have collapsed without the cuffs. His hair stuck to his sweaty cheekbones. He nodded hard. The flogger whistled through the air. _Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen._

Fifteen?

It was done. Bucky couldn’t believe it. His body certainly couldn’t believe it. He was shuddering, breathing unevenly, his thoughts a mess of white noise. _Anything you want._ But Steve didn’t want anything anymore. The spreader bar came off. _Click. Click._ Bucky gathered his legs under him, finding them weak like cotton. Then the rope slithered off the beam overhead, and Bucky’s hands came down.

He moaned when the ache in his shoulders shifted. Deep, muscle-bound soreness, something to feel all week. All his energy was evaporating. He clumsily sank to his knees and found himself immediately in Steve’s embrace. He didn’t want to open his eyes. After a moment of doubt, his body had finally registered the pain stopping for good, and unbidden endorphins were flooding his system. He was so high. His head rested on Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s skinny arms wrapped around him, steady, solid; Bucky’s eyes were already closed, and he let it all go, let himself float into bubbles of light.

 

*

 

He’d changed position. When had that happened? The sweat had dried on his skin, and he was on his side, nestled under a fleece blanket.

Bucky lazily opened his eyes. They took a long time to focus. Steve was sitting on the floor next to him, caressing the side of his face.

“Thank you,” he whispered reverently.

Bucky butted his head into his palm and closed his eyes again. “Thank you,” he whispered back.

No more words now. He let himself drift even further, everything inside him calm and still.

 

*

 

Coming out of subspace was like waking up on a lazy Sunday morning.

Bucky’s thoughts blinked back online, one by one. Steve was petting his hair. The label of the fleece blanket was itching at Bucky’s hip. His right arm was going numb, stuck under his body. He moved, not by much, but enough to get Steve’s attention.

“Hey,” Steve said softly. “Are you back?”

“Yeah.” Bucky broke into a full, unrestrained smile. “Hi. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” Steve smiled back, thumb rubbing Bucky’s cheek. “That was honestly the best scene I’ve done in a long while.”

Bucky hid his face in the blanket. “It was all you. You’re—the pacing—” He shook his head. “All you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. My arm hurts as hell. A real show of endurance on my part.”

Bucky laughed, then shifted to the side. He really wanted to change position now. Steve took the hint and moved away.

“You good to stay alone for a minute? While I get the tea going?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” Bucky sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s—” Steve paused. “Whoops.”

 

*

 

“How can it be midnight?” Bucky lamented for the third time in as many minutes. “Christ, Steve, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Buck. I had a great time.” Steve yawned. “That’s on me, really. I’m the one who’s supposed to keep track of those things.”

“But _midnight,_ though?” Bucky said again. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “Did you whip me for _four hours?”_

Steve huffed a laugh. “No. Maybe an hour? Which is really impressive, by the way.”

“So—”

“We took a little while to set up. But mostly we took our time during the aftercare, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Bucky blinked. “Christ. I’m sorry. Maybe we can put an alarm next time, or something—”

“Hey,” Steve frowned. “You really need to stop apologizing. If you need two hours of aftercare, then you get two hours of aftercare.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say.

“I don’t mind going to sleep late,” Steve went on. “Do you know what I mind? One of us going into drop.”

“You mean like subdrop?” Bucky said, confused. “I thought that was during a scene.”

Steve rubbed his eyes. “No, that’s not—it’s more like—” He couldn’t hold back another huge yawn. “Okay, we need to have this conversation later. Remind me if I forget, it’s really important.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, still puzzled but less worried than before.

They looked at each other for a minute. Then Steve got up, running a hand through his blond hair. “Do you—is it okay to ask if you want to stay the night? You’ll sleep a couple hours more that way.”

Bucky hesitated. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” Steve turned away. “Hold on, I’ll find you a toothbrush.”

Did Steve offer this kind of thing to all his clients? Bucky sure hoped not—that couldn’t be safe. But he was relieved. Maybe also a bit glad, for no reason at all.

 

*

 

“All set?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky said, settling on the couch with a blanket. “Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll probably sleep till noon, just slam the door on your way out.”

“Okay.” Bucky smiled at him. “Night, Steve.”

“Night, Buck.”

The lights turned off, plunging the room in bluish darkness. Bucky lay back. It was strange to be here, in the thick silence of Steve’s soundproof living room. But his body was loose and warm, and sleep wasn’t long to find him.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me bounce around the room! Next chapter on Thursday, thank you for reading :D


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

Bucky startled awake when his phone buzzed against the floorboards. He had a moment of disorientation, then everything came back to him.

His phone was steadily inching away with every buzz. He stretched to grab it, and turned it off so he wouldn’t wake up Steve; then he sat there for a while, staring into space. The colorless morning light made the living room look supernaturally neat.

After a while, Bucky got up and dressed. He considered raiding the kitchen for orange juice, but he was late already and would rather doze on the subway, still fuzzy with sleep and the memory of the day before. He hesitated on the threshold, then did slam the door; better to wake Steve than to have him wonder whether Bucky had left the door open.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about it as he walked to the elevator—the idea of Steve a few rooms away, emerging from sleep, his blue eyes half-lidded, his thoughts following Bucky down the hallway.

 

*

 

Bucky ducked into the subway, rode it for a comfortable mindless while, then grabbed some Starbucks before he got to work—a black coffee for Clint, and a whipped cream caramel thing for himself.

When Bucky walked into Stark Industries, Clint let out a moan so loud it turned a few heads.

“Oh, bless your fucking _face.”_

“Careful, it’s still hot.”

“I just need to know it’s there,” Clint said blearily, cradling the cup to his chest like a newborn.

He fiddled with his station, eyelids so heavy they were almost shut. They had an arrangement—Bucky bribed Clint with coffee, and Clint did not make Bucky go through the whole metal detector song-and-dance every time he came into the building. 

“Nice clothes,” Clint said through an enormous yawn.

Bucky looked down at his plain red henley, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks? How so?”

“Same you were wearing yesterday.” Even tired, Clint had a sharp eye.

Bucky couldn’t brag about getting flogged, which was a damn shame. But he could let his lips stretch in an eloquent smile, and that was almost as good. Clint grinned sleepily.

“Aw, dude, _nice._ Is it, like, a thing? A new thing?”

“Sort of.” Bucky stepped through the gate, which did not ring. “Thanks, man.”

He half-jogged towards the basement, which was where the magic happened for him—no windows to blow with sonic booms down there. Slipping into the locker room, he grabbed his work clothes from his locker. The hands-on engineers were required to wear some kind of oilcloth overalls that were resistant to pretty much everything. Stark Industries-made, of course. Between that and the Fucking Arm, Bucky was basically a walking SI endorsement.

He was about to undress when he paused.

He looked around the room to make sure he was alone. Then he took his shirt off, turned his back to the mirror and risked a glance.

A huge smile broke out on his face. There was a swarm of tiny dotted bruises on his shoulder blades, where the ends of the lashes had bitten. With a lot of wiggling, he managed to snap a decent pic, intent on showing Steve later. Then he quickly dressed again, moving his arms and shoulders to make his back muscles shift, soreness rippling along. Today was gonna be a great day.

 

*

 

Of course, Tony noticed something again, though he couldn’t understand what.

“Great performance, Barnes,” he said at the end of the day. “Gotta say, I didn’t think someone could be this focused on so few hours of sleep. You may look like a raccoon, but you also have the deft hands of one. So what is your secret?”

“See you Monday, Tony.”

“C’mon! At least tell me his name!” Tony called behind him.

Bucky went into a toilet stall to change back into his normal clothes. Tony wasn’t above jumping into the locker room to catch sight of a hickey. Better take no chances.

 

*

 

When Bucky finally got home, Natasha was sitting cross-legged on the couch, with a tablet in her lap.

“Oh, there you are,” she said without looking up from the screen. “I was about to send a search party.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said, dropping his keys and jacket. “Spent the night at Steve’s.”

That made her look up. “You did?”

“We kind of got carried away.” Bucky tried not to smile, but it was tugging at his lips all the same. “Crashed on his couch.”

“Hmm.” She went back to her screen. “So you two really hit it off, huh?”

“Yes, we did, and now I have to bake you cookies of gratitude or whatever, I know.”

Bucky was headed for the shower, but then turned around and poked his head back into the living room. “Hey, Nat—how did you know we’d get along?”

She shrugged. “He’s a no-bullshit guy.”

Bucky was strangely disappointed by her answer. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted her to say. _I knew you’d like him? I knew he’d like you?_ But he nodded and shed his clothes as he walked to the bathroom, thinking of nothing now but a hot shower.

It stung a bit at first. But that was part of the fun.

 

*

 

The next day was a Saturday. Bucky slept like a brick till noon. When he woke up, the first thing he did was drag his computer into bed and set up the automatic payment on Steve’s account, blinking sleepily at the screen.

Five more days before they’d meet again. Was it stupid to be eager already? It wasn’t a physical thing this time; the deep contentment of their last session still sat solid in Bucky’s body. But it kinda sucked that he couldn’t text Steve. Or send him the pics he’d taken in the locker room.

 _Just gotta work on that, Barnes._ He’d only ever been Dommed by people he dated, and they hadn’t really known what they were doing anyway. His brain would take a little while to adjust to the program.

He watched shitty bootlegged series until 3pm, then dragged himself out of bed to eat something, which took him another hour to prepare because he liked cooking for real. By the time he was done, he was fully ready to plonk himself in front of the TV and finish enjoying his glorious No-Pants Saturday.

Natasha thought otherwise. “Are you moping on my couch _again?”_

“I’m not—and first of all, it’s _our_ couch now. Roommates. Remember?”

“We’re going out for a movie.” She was sharply dressed, with an exquisite black dress and winged eyeliner. “You should come along.”

“Who’s _we?”_

“Sam—”

“I’m out.”

“—and Steve.”

For a second Bucky thought he was hearing things.

_“Steve?”_

“Sure. Why not? I told you he was a friend.”

Bucky stared at her. “He’s—he’s never come before.”

“Of course he has. It’s you who never goes, _durak.”_

Now that Bucky thought about it, he definitely remembered Natasha mentioning him once or twice. But that was before, when _Steve_ was just a catch-all name. Only two weeks ago, thousands of people were named Steve. Now it was unique to Bucky’s ears.

“Well—” Bucky tried to gather himself. “Now I definitely can’t come.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m his—I’m his client.”

“So? It’s just a movie, we’re not hanging out at his mom’s. And Steve knows you’re my roommate, he’s been expecting you to show up much sooner.”

“Really?”

“Of course _really._ But you’re such a couch gremlin.” She stared at him. “So are you coming?”

Bucky got up. He hadn’t even come to terms with his own decision yet, but apparently his body was going ahead all on its own. “Fine. Just—hold on—” He couldn’t go wearing his pajamas, he needed to change. What could he wear? It was just a movie night, he shouldn’t be worrying about that. Still, he’d sat in his clothes all day—did he smell?

“No time for you to take a shower!” Natasha yelled after him.

 

*

 

Bucky had been afraid to make it weird for Steve, but he hadn’t thought it might be weird for _him._ And yet, when he saw Steve from across the street, he had to stop and take it in.

The neon façade of the theater was making Steve’s hair glow golden. He was chatting easily with Sam, laughing at a joke, and even from here Bucky could see how blue his eyes were. His clothes had nothing Domly about them—just jeans, a brown leather jacket, and a navy t-shirt with a white star on the chest. Just as Bucky started wondering if this was a good idea, Steve turned his head and saw him.

He blinked for a second, then smiled.

Sam had seen him too; he waited till Bucky had crossed the street to start talking. “Romanov drag you out of your cave at last?”

“Fuck off, Wilson,” Bucky mumbled. “H-hey, Steve.”

“Hi.” Steve was still smiling. “It’s good to see you.”

They shook hands. Bucky didn’t know what to say. Why couldn’t he think of anything to say? Only three days ago they were cuddling and smiling at each other, both a bit breathless still, in a sea of ropes and cuffs and floggers.

It was a relief when Natasha pushed him aside to kiss Steve on the cheek and give Sam a hug. “Alright, let’s go or we won’t get a seat.”

They got in line. Bucky had hoped they’d start talking all together, the four of them, but instead Sam and Nat started reminiscing about the Berlin Rope Festival which Steve must have not attended because he hung back with Bucky.

They didn’t talk. For a few seconds, everything was miserable and awkward and awful.

Then Steve looked up at Bucky.

“How’s your back?”

His pink mouth was very slightly curling up. He wasn’t asking out of concern.

Bucky blinked, then held back a smile of his own. He leaned towards Steve so he could talk lower. “Got some nice bruisin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Check it out.” He got out his phone, swiped through a couple of pics and held it out to Steve, carefully angled—they had to stand real close together to make sure nobody could see. Steve’s grin got huge when he saw Bucky’s locker room selfies.

“That’s amazing.”

“Took ‘em just the morning after.”

“They fade away yet?”

Bucky rolled his shoulders to get a feel. “Not much. I don’t think.”

Steve stretched his neck to look at the line. It was very long, and not going very fast. He glanced to the bathroom signs, then to Bucky again. “Would you mind—”

Bucky grinned. “You wanna see the real thing?”

Steve’s cheeks went a little pink, but he nodded. Bucky was so excited he tapped Natasha’s shoulder at once. “Be right back. Save us a seat.”

“What?” Sam said, but Steve and Bucky were already making their way across the crowded hall.

Women were waiting in line at their door, but the men’s room seemed empty. They got inside, Bucky already shrugging off his jacket and handing it to Steve.

“M’not gonna take it off, but—” he hitched up his t-shirt and turned his back to him.

“They’re _great.”_

“Right? I wish I had better pics.”

“We can do that next time, you know. Take pictures.”

Bucky tugged his shirt back down, turning to face him. “Yeah, that’d be awesome. You a photographer or something?”

“I didn’t study it, if that’s what you mean. But when I was in college—”

The door suddenly opened on a strange guy with an eyepatch.

The both of them froze. The man stared intensely at them. They just stared back for a long tense while.

“Can we help you?” Steve asked eventually.

“Guess not,” the man grunted, then left.

There was a silence. Then Steve cracked up.

“The fuck,” Bucky said.

“Oh my God. He’s from the staff. He must have seen us going to the bathroom together and thought—”

Bucky hadn’t even thought of how they must have looked—grinning at each other, checking out a picture, and then suddenly detaching themselves from the line to make a beeline for the men’s room—yeah, alright, why not. Bucky still felt a little insulted.

“Hey,” he said, “I like to think we would’ve gone in a stall, at the very least.”

“Those are great standards, Buck,” Steve grinned.

“Also, wouldn’t it make more sense to do it in, like, a nightclub or whatever?”

“You’d think that, but I’ve been thrown out of a nightclub before.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? For fucking in the bathroom?”

“No? Um.” Steve looked trapped by his own words. He rubbed the back of his head. “More like fighting in the bathroom.”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh. _“What?”_

“Look, there _were_ people fucking in a stall, and that one guy started shouting slurs at them—and he was so much taller than me, so I just—I threw my shoe at him—look, I was pretty drunk—”

It took Steve ten whole minutes to tell his awkward and glorious story because Bucky was laughing so much he had to make him repeat sometimes. Then Steve suddenly said, “Look, nobody’s come in in a while, just hitch up your shirt again so I can take a proper pic,” and Bucky did it, watching the door just in case. Five seconds later, he was drawing his shirt back and grinning at Steve’s phone.

“Aw, it’s really great. Can you send it to me?”

“Sure—hold on—”

One whooshing sound later, Steve was browsing his own pics, sliding through bound kneeling figures as he looked for a particular image. “There—look. It was last year in Paris. Some guy with a metal cane.”

“A cane?”

“Yup. Check out these marks.”

 _“Holy_ shit.” They were so well-defined they looked fake. “And the girl was alright?”

“Oh yeah. Matt’s a pretty great Dom. They were cuddling all night afterwards, didn’t even do anything else, they were so out of it.”

It prompted Bucky to share what few tales he had from his one night in the fetish club. But then he realized it really wasn’t much, he’d mostly just watched everything with wide eyes, stuff that wouldn’t impress a seasoned Dom like Steve. So he stumbled his way through a few college stories _—and then I told him he could spank me, if he wanted, and he was, like, afraid he’d hurt his hand?—_ and Steve was sitting on the sink counter and laughing, and eventually they checked the time and realized the movie must be half-finished by now.

For a second they just stared at each other. Then Steve shrugged.

“Whoops.”

“You said the same thing Thursday night.”

“Guess I’m _really_ not good with that kind of stuff.” He made it sound like he was joking, but there was something sheepish in his eyes.

Bucky bumped their shoulders together. “Hey, it’s okay. It wasn’t your job to keep an eye on the time.” He hesitated then said, “So… you wanna go grab a milkshake or something?”

Steve smiled at him. “Yeah, I guess we might as well.”

 

*

 

Sam and Natasha came out of the movie an hour later, walking into the diner with equally confused expressions. Bucky was the first to see them and winced. This was going to be hard to explain.

“What happened, exactly?” Natasha asked, reaching their table.

“And what are you _drinking,”_ Sam added, eyeing the dregs of Bucky’s white chocolate strawberry milkshake.

It was easier to glare at him than to meet Nat’s gaze, which was dangerously flat. Steve bravely took it on himself to explain. “I started showing him pictures, and I totally forgot to watch the time. When we realized, it was too late. I’m really sorry, guys, that was a dick move.”

He sounded so sincerely apologetic that Bucky himself wanted to tell him he was forgiven.

“Was it at least _literally_ a dick move?” Sam asked.

“Of course not,” Steve said sternly. “Never when there’s kids around, Sam, you know that.”

 _Why are you like this,_ Bucky thought helplessly. Natasha rolled her eyes but sat in their booth.

“Well, guess it’s an opportunity to make you buy us apology milkshakes.”

“I’m not buying Sam a _milkshake,”_ Bucky said at once.

“Wouldn’t want one you picked anyway. Guaranteed diabetes.”

“Hey!”

“It’s okay, I can pay for both,” Steve said, looking worried.

“You _will not,”_ Bucky said in increasing disbelief. “Look, I’m paying for Nat’s. And you can buy Wilson whatever gross shit he wants.”

“Coming from you, man, that’s rich.”

They talked, cheered at the sight of their milkshakes, talked some more, ordered some fries, and the conversation went on late at night, with a lot of Sam and Bucky sniping at each other, which was sort of inevitable when they were in the same room. Bucky hated to admit it, but he was having fun. Steve looked like he did, too—though at times he smiled a little less, only to revive when someone talked to him.

 

*

 

They left the diner around 2am and went their separate ways, Sam and Steve sharing an Uber and Bucky and Nat walking the few blocks to their place.

“Is he always like this?” Bucky asked.

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked, checking her messages.

“You know. Just. All genuine and stuff.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you think all Doms behaved like Doms 24/7?”

“Well, _you_ do,” Bucky said, which earned him a punch on the shoulder. “Ow! You don’t have my consent for that!”

She snorted a laugh, then said, “I’ve never seen Steve get into the zone. How’s his Dom vibe?”

“Not…” Bucky hesitated. “He doesn’t really have one? He’s still the same. Just very excited to hurt me.”

Natasha looked at him for a moment, then turned her gaze ahead. “Well, you still owe me gratitude cookies.”

“I just bought you an apology milkshake.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Bucky felt vaguely guilty again. “Was the movie good, at least?”

“You don’t care about the movie,” she said dismissively, and she was absolutely right.

 

*

 

And then Thursday came around again, and Bucky felt like it was Christmas morning.

 _oh boy oh boy oh boy,_ he sent Steve on his way to work.

(Because he had Steve’s number now. Since Steve had sent him that pic in the movie theater’s bathroom. Not that Bucky had hesitated for days trying to guess if that meant he could text him.)

A laughing emoji answered him. Then, _do you still have marks from last time?_

_nope. all gone. obviously i need a refill_

_you know your skin marks less and less the more you play_

_well, you’ll just have to strain your arm._

Steve’s reply was all cheerful emojis again. _i really do love masochists_

Bucky laughed, then cursed when he realized he was about to miss his stop and leaped out of the subway just in time.

 

*

 

He was nervous again riding the gilded elevator to Steve’s door, but it was a good kind of nervousness now. Had Steve planned anything in particular? He must have. Or maybe he liked to go with the flow in his scenes with Bucky, since his other clients were asking him a lot of specific stuff.

Bucky walked to number 107, then realized he was twenty minutes early.

That wasn’t too bad—but what if Steve was in a scene with someone? Bucky couldn’t just knock on the door. Eventually, he decided to shoot him a text.

_steve?_

The answer came a minute later. _what’s up?_

_sorry, i got here early. is it okay to come in_

_sure, if you don’t mind blood_

Bucky wasn’t sure what that meant. He knocked, then pushed open the door.

The living room was open, blandly inviting as usual, perfectly empty. On Bucky’s right, the kitchen was quiet, with the fridge purring in the background. On his left, the hallway leading to the bathroom and to the closed doors.

“Steve?”

“In here,” Steve called from the bathroom. Bucky headed for the door while he kept talking. “But I’m serious, don’t come over here if you have a problem with—”

“Jesus _fuck!”_ Bucky squeaked.

Steve was crouching on the tiles near the bathtub—which was slick with crimson blood, trickling in rivulets where he’d started rinsing it away. He made a half-move to get up, looking worried.

“Bucky? Are you alright?”

“Yeah—just—” Bucky grabbed the threshold and took a moment to make sure he was only reeling with surprise. “Just, uh, what the—what, what did you do?”

“Bloodplay,” Steve said like it was obvious.

Bucky took a second look. The bathtub evidently hadn’t been _filled_ with blood; someone had sat in there with open cuts, and it had rubbed off. Which definitely made sense in context. Blood would have never washed off Steve’s pale furniture in the living room—and besides, it probably wasn’t sanitary.

Taking a breath, Bucky realized the metallic scent of it wasn’t even that strong, overpowered by the sterile smell of cleaning products. Steve was even wearing nitrile gloves. The blades he’d used were lined up on a tray, already disinfected.

“I should have told you to wait in the living room,” Steve said, still looking anxious.

But Bucky finally managed to laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You did warn me. I’m okay, I just really didn’t expect this.”

Steve gave a small hesitant grin. “I guess it kind of looks impressive from the outside?”

“Christ, for a second I thought you had a body in there.” Bucky sat on the closed toilet seat. “Isn’t that a lot of blood?”

“Not really,” Steve said, turning back to the bathtub to finish rinsing it off. “Maybe a third of a pint? It’s just smudged all over.”

Bucky absorbed this information. He did love bruises on his body, which from a vanilla perspective could seem frightening since he was technically injuring himself. But cutting—it felt different. More invasive, more dangerous. Maybe his history with open wounds didn’t help either.

“Doesn’t it take time to heal?” he asked.

“Like, a week or two,” Steve said, now scrubbing the bathtub with disinfectant. “I don’t go much deeper than papercuts. Can’t risk hitting a vein.”

He washed it all away again, then took off his nitrile gloves and put them in the trash. Bucky sat there, watching him as he carefully washed his hands, which was probably overkill. But Steve was thorough that way.

“Do you… enjoy it?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged. “Not particularly. I like hurting people, but there’s less messy ways to go about it. Also the clean-up is a hassle.” He looked at Bucky, drying his hands. “Why, is that something you might be interested in?”

“Just curious, I guess,” Bucky said, getting up to follow him into the hallway. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

“No?” Steve shot him a smile. “I’ll write it down.”

The living room was a relief. Bucky realized he _had_ been tense in there. His fascination was at the forefront, but the mixed scent of blood and sterile tools was too reminiscent of the hospital, of the day of the accident.

“Hey.” Steve waited till Bucky had turned to ask, “Can I give you a hug?”

Bucky huffed and smiled. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve said. But… it’s for me, too, anyway.”

Bucky frowned, already half-reaching towards him. “For you?”

“Yeah.” Steve took both his hands with a smile. “We all need aftercare. Doesn’t have to be hugs—it’s just important to have a transition between what’s for play and what’s real.”

“Oh. Ok.” Bucky wrapped him in his arms. Steve fit so sweetly there, tucked under his chin. “But you… you don’t get hurt during scenes, though.”

“No, but I hurt people, and I need to come back from that too.”

There was a silence.

“We didn’t even play yet,” Bucky pointed out. “I just got scared a little.”

“You can just say it’s getting awkward, I can take a hint,” Steve said, letting him go with a grin. “Thanks, Buck.”

The joke was on Bucky, though, because now he was kind of disappointed that it was over already.

“You’re one to talk,” he said to cover it up. “If you wanted to cop a feel you coulda just said so.”

He only got a snort in answer. They walked into the kitchen and Bucky stood there watching Steve make tea, still mulling over what he’d just heard.

“So is that what subdrop is?” he asked after a while. “When you react badly to kinky stuff?”

“Yup, pretty much. Like I said, it can also happen to Doms. I don’t know anyone in the scene who hasn’t gone through it at least once.”

“But—is it serious?”

“I mean, it wears off.” Steve handed him a cup. “But it’s not fun. You can feel anxious, worthless, depressed sometimes, just—it gets you into a bad place. So if you ever start feeling weird after a scene, you give me a call.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. Even at night.”

“I know.” Then the words tumbled out of Bucky’s lips on their own accord. “But then you can—you can call me, too.”

Steve blinked at him.

Bucky shifted against the counter. His cheeks were heating up. “Just—I know I’m your client, but—I’m your sub. Right? So we gotta—we take care of each other.”

Steve’s entire face seemed to light up. “Right. Thanks, Buck.”

“You’re—you’re welcome,” Bucky mumbled, staring into his cup even though it was still empty.

 

*

 

Bucky was starting to think of the tea as a ritual; already, he was getting a Pavlovian reaction to the taste of chai, knowing it was the prelude to new and exciting things. At Steve’s head tilt, he got up and followed him to the living room.

“Okay,” Steve asked, all casual. “Up for some CBT?”

Bucky’s eyes went very wide and his throat very dry.

“Uh—uh, yeah. _Yeah.”_

“Awesome. You can take off your clothes, then.”

Bucky started stripping at once, his mind a mess of excitement and fear—but then abruptly stopped when it was time to pull down his underwear.

_Shit._

Steve grinned wider at him. “Forget something?”

Bucky swallowed.

“C’mon,” Steve said, tipping Bucky’s chin so he had to look him in the eyes. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I—I didn’t think of—” He swallowed. “I didn’t shave.”

“Aw. “ Steve grinned with delight and flicked his chin. “Now that’s too bad, Bucky.”

Bucky couldn’t understand how he could have forgotten it, when it had made such an impact on him at the time. Somehow he had put it completely off his mind until this very moment. His stomach twisted. Now Steve would—

“Let’s see it,” Steve said.

Bucky took off his underwear, then stood straight again. For the first time, he was completely naked in Steve’s dungeon.

He was intensely self-conscious. Steve was openly staring at him. Without thinking, Bucky held his hands behind his back, falling into some kind of parade rest for inspection.

“Hmm,” Steve said, peering at his cock. “Turn around?”

Bucky complied, cheeks burning, doing a slow 360° to let Steve see all of him.

“You really are somethin’,” Steve said quietly. Then he smiled at him. “Gonna make it even more fun to beat your ass.”

Bucky swallowed, almost vibrating with anticipation.

“It’s not gonna be like last time. No build-up, no breaks. This is a punishment.”

Bucky nodded. He felt like the room had bumped up to a hundred degrees, like he was wearing three coats instead of standing there naked.

Steve went to one of his mystery drawers and pulled out a rattan cane. He slapped it in his hand.

“Five strikes. I’m gonna need you to count them out loud. That seem fair to you?”

Bucky nodded again, surprised. It seemed suspiciously more than fair, actually.

“You’re so cute.” Steve grinned. “So embarrassed you can’t even speak. Go on, go brace against the wall.”

Buck took the position, arms extended, hands flat against the wall, legs slightly apart. When Steve was satisfied, he touched Bucky’s back with the cane.

Bucky thought of the pictures in Steve’s phone. The marks.

“Alright, Buck, here we go.”

_Crack._

For a second Bucky felt nothing—then the pain sliced through him and he slammed his fist against the wall.

“F—” His body finally absorbed the blow, and he sagged. _“Fuck._ Sorry. One.”

He’d thought five strikes wasn’t much. Now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to take them all. It was like his body was a ripe fruit and Steve’s cane had split it open; the pain was so intense it had brought him to the verge of nausea.

 _Crack._ He let his whole body cramp in a silent scream, just willed himself to _take it take it take it just take it,_ then his breath whooshed out of his lungs. “Two. Two. Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, it’s not an endurance tool.”

The cane whistled in the air when Steve brought it down.

 _“FUCK!”_ Bucky shouted this time. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Three! Jesus fucking Christ!”

Steve’s grin was audible in his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, please, just—” Bucky wanted to take his punishment. Now that he knew how badly it hurt, the anticipation was even worse than the actual pain. “Please, just—”

 _Crack._ He let out a completely humiliating sound, something high-pitched with despair. “Four,” he gasped in a dry sob. _“God—”_

Before he’d even completely recovered, Steve gave him the fifth one—and Bucky shouted like never before, like a bad actor hamming it up in the movies, hands convulsing uselessly on the wall.

“F-f-five,” he gasped out when he was done.

“You did great.”

Bucky let out a wobbly laugh. He turned round and let himself slide down the wall to sit on the floor. Steve was grinning at him; he tipped Bucky’s chin up again with the cane.

“Alright?”

Bucky nodded, smiling back, trying to catch his breath.

“Maybe that’ll teach you to pay attention when I talk.”

“Oh yeah, that should do it,” Bucky panted. “Jesus. After the flogging, I thought I could—but that _thing—”_

“Yeah, I only really use it for punishment,” Steve said, bending it idly in his hands. “It’s just so fucking mean.”

“You’re telling me.” Bucky caught his breath. “So… now…?”

“Now I’ll shave you.”

Bucky gaped at him.

“What? You thought that was enough to get you off the hook? C’mon,” Steve said, grabbing Bucky’s hair and dragging him forward, “we’re going back to the bathroom.”

The memory of the bloodied bathtub zinged through Bucky’s memory, but this time it elicited a delicious kind of fear, like a flash fantasy, _be good or he’ll do something awful to you._ Bucky did his best to follow, unable to get up, wincing when he wasn’t crawling fast enough and Steve twisted more impatiently at his hair. The hallway seemed longer than it had been a minute before. Eventually Steve released his punishing grip and Bucky slumped on the cool tile.

“Get up, you drama queen.” Steve nudged him in the thigh. “And get a look at yourself while I get my stuff.”

“At myself?” Bucky asked, puzzled.

“Your back.”

 _No way._ Bucky got up on wobbly legs, turned his back to the mirror above the sink, and— _whoa._

Red welts had already bloomed there. Not the strange smattering of freckles-like flogger bruises, either, but five crisscrossing stripes that promised to _last._

“Holy shit!” Bucky said in delighted awe.

“Yeah, canes mark best,” Steve grinned. Then he grabbed Bucky’s arm and tugged down. “Alright, back on all fours.”

Bucky’s stomach swooped again. He complied, facing away from Steve, flushing hot once more. He was naked after all. What if Steve took the opportunity to fuck him? He wouldn’t—he wanted Bucky to be shaved first—but what if he did it afterwards, while Bucky was still red and sensitive from the blade?

Steve had kept the cane with him, and tapped it on the inside of Bucky's thighs. “Spread ‘em.” A pause. “Wider, Buck.”

Bucky obeyed, but Steve gave him a sharper tap.

“Are you gonna need the spreader bar again?”

Bucky would have actually loved that—it had been so amazing struggling against that thing—but he didn’t think he could stand a lull in the scene. He shook his head wordlessly and did his best to spread his knees.

“That’s better.” Steve crouched behind him and reached out to grab his balls. Bucky jumped, hands clenching reflexively on the tiles. He could feel the calluses on Steve’s fingers.

“I would keep still if I were you,” Steve said, firming his grip.

The buzz of a razor echoed on the walls. Bucky took a deep breath and stared ahead.

He couldn’t help twitching when the razor touched the sensitive skin of his balls. He swallowed and tried to focus on the white tiles in front of him. Nobody had ever shaved his face; that alone would have been overwhelmingly intimate. But to be shaved _there_ —in this position—because he hadn’t remembered to do it himself, it was his fault that this was happening to him—

He was confused to feel himself tear up. The humiliation was getting to him. His dick filled accordingly, and he tried to take some deep breaths.

Steve paused when he heard the hitch in Bucky’s chest. “Bucky?”

Bucky shook his head and gave him a silent thumbs-up with his metal hand. Steve squeezed his thigh in answer, then went back to work.

He was thorough as always, turning Bucky’s balls this way and that to get every last hair. Bucky was heating up as he felt them roll under his fingers. The worst and best thing was how Steve was so _detached_ from it all. Just handling Bucky like an animal on a farm.

“There.” The razor stopped. “Now your asshole.”

Bucky made a noise.

“C’mon, Buck.” The cane tapped over his tailbone. “Need you to spread yourself open for me. Don’t make me do all the work.”

Breath hitching again, Bucky did it—reached behind himself to spread his cheeks open, which made him put his head on the floor, face down and ass up. He was shaking bodily.

“Still doing okay?” Steve asked, low.

Bucky knew Steve couldn’t see him nodding, but it was so difficult to speak. Eventually he managed to rasp out a yes. It sounded so pathetic his tears spilled out. His face was burning.

“Great.” The razor buzzed on again.

Bucky’s rim was infinitely worse than his balls—he had always been horribly sensitive there, and it sometimes stung with pain when the razor caught on a hair, but mostly it sent little shocks of pleasure into him, so that he was fully, painfully hard now. Precome was beading on his cock, threatening to stain the floor. Small whines caught in his throat.

It stopped again. “Good. Now turn around.”

Bucky didn’t move, horrified.

“No? But I gotta finish, Bucky.” Steve sat close to him with a grin in his voice. “What’s wrong? Don’t want me to see your face?”

Bucky was shaking, sweating, his long hair sticking to his temples, his cheeks red, but—

“Or is it something else?” Steve reached between his legs and grabbed his hard cock.

Bucky flinched with his whole body.

“It’s okay to enjoy it, Buck. No point trying to hide.”

Bucky was going to come _right fucking now_ if Steve didn’t let go—

Steve let go, and the cane smacked on Bucky’s ass, not a real blow but still more than a tap. “I said turn around.”

Bucky did, looking down so he wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes, shivering, trying to keep his composure, and Steve made a strange gesture—reaching out—stopping himself, and then changing his mind and doing it, leaning in to kiss Bucky full on the mouth.

Bucky was sitting there, bare in every possible way, with tear tracks on his hot face, and Steve was—he was an amazing kisser, coaxing Bucky’s mouth open, going deep. His hand was firm at Bucky’s nape, and Bucky remembered what he’d noticed on the day they’d met, how Steve’s hands seemed too big for him, but it was perfect. He was perfect.

Steve was half-kneeling, with the cane still in his other hand, and his body was so slight and his hands so certain and the contrast made Bucky’s head spin. _Anything for you. I would do anything. I would give you anything. Please, please, please. Whatever you ask. Whatever you want._

Steve pulled back eventually, looking a little ruined himself.

“So,” he said hoarsely. He was still inches from his face. Bucky couldn’t look away from him. “Let’s finish up.”

The razor buzzed to life again. It did quick work of Bucky’s pubic hair. When he was finished, Steve moved back, and Bucky looked at himself. His heart jumped in his chest. He seemed so _vulnerable._ So naked. _I want my subs to be naked._ Steve had made him that way. Now he was getting up, picking up the cane again.

“Keep your legs spread.”

Bucky was still sitting on the tiles, with his back to the bathtub. He looked up at him. “Steve—”

“I know what I’m doing. And I can’t wait, so we’re doing it right now on the bathroom floor.” Steve’s pupils were blown. The cane snapped at Bucky’s thigh. _“Spread.”_

Bucky obeyed, mesmerized. The tip of the cane touched his balls, weighed them.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed again, almost a whine.

He knew his eyes were wide with fear; he could hear it in his voice. How could he be so eager for something that scared him so much?

“Yeah, you got a taste of that one already. S’good, you’re learning to respect the material.” Steve grinned and said more quietly. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna cane your balls off.”

Bucky laughed, a bit of his tension rippling away. He craned his neck, letting the back of his head rest on the edge of the bathtub. “Okay,” he gasped. “Okay, I’m fine—”

Steve gave him a little hit with the cane.

It was nothing compared to the punishment Bucky had taken earlier; but of course it made his whole body jerk. It was so easy to be hurt there.

He was still hard—so of course the cane moved to his jutting cock. He spread his legs even wider and even pushed his hips up so Steve wouldn’t accidentally catch another part of his body. Steve positioned the cane, made eye contact for an intense second—then hit three times, in rapid succession.

Bucky pushed back against the bathtub, screwing his eyes shut. “Fuck—”

“You’re doing great.” _Snap_ on his balls again. Bucky jolted like he’d been shocked. This pain was different from all the others somehow—it wasn’t just skin and muscle taking the hit, but some of his internal organs. It felt cold and urgent like an electric shock. It was crazy to do this. But Bucky trusted Steve so deeply. _I know what I’m doing._ And he’d taken worst hits to the balls. This was more intense because it was deliberate. Bucky had to fight against his every instinct, just to keep his legs open.

“More?” _Snap._ “You like this.” _Snap-snap._ “You’re rock hard.” _Snap-snap-snap._

Bucky’s heels were scrabbling on the tiles; he kept pushing back against the bathtub. If he wasn’t careful he might just crack the porcelain. His chest was heaving.

“You okay there, Buck?”

He nodded feverishly.

“More for you, then.” On his cock again—slightly harder than before, of course he could take more there, three quick stripes on the shaft—but the last one caught his cockhead, making him rear back so hard some shampoo bottles fell into the bathtub.

“Ffffuck—” he panted, looking desperately at the ceiling, saying again with every exhale, “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Next time I’ll tie you up, it’ll be easier.” Steve’s cane poked at his thighs again; Bucky had closed them without thinking. “But today you’re on your own, Buck. Stay still.”

“I’m—” Bucky gasped, spreading again, “sorry—”

“It’s okay.”

 _Snap_ on his cockhead again.

It hurt _so fucking much—_ Bucky pushed his hips up, arched his spine, slammed his fist down so he wouldn’t scream. It took him a long time to recover, panting so hard he was almost sobbing, unable to catch his breath until his body relaxed by a fraction.

“Okay, Buck.” Steve’s voice was soft. The cane came under Bucky’s chin to make him look up, yet again. “Now I’ll need you to choose. Fifteen hits on your cock or thirty on your balls?”

Bucky whined, then screwed his eyes shut. The pain in his balls felt _wrong,_ but—fifteen more hits on his cockhead? He might just fucking die.

“Thirty,” he said, wincing, knowing what he was in for.

“That’s real brave of you.” The cane left his chin. “Ready?”

It was little taps, interspersed with real blows— _tap, tap, SNAP—_ and every time Bucky writhed and jerked and cried out. After ten hits he closed his legs every time. After fifteen his tears were rolling freely down his cheeks. After twenty he was biting his right fist to take the pain.

“Only ten more.”

“Please—please—” He almost couldn’t catch his breath enough to speak. “Could you—can you—”

Steve crouched and put a hand on his knee, thumb rubbing at the skin. “What’s up?”

“Could you kiss me again,” Bucky managed to say.

Steve blinked, then smiled. “You’re just tryna stall me, are you.”

But he leaned down again to give Bucky a sweet, deep, kiss. Bucky hadn’t realized how much he needed it. He almost burst into sobs—he felt the first one welling up in his chest but pushed it back, because he didn’t want to lose it now, it was almost over, it was almost over, and he only needed to be brave for ten more blows before relief found him. He wanted to hold onto Steve; it was hard to keep his hands by his sides. But he also wanted to stay still, to be disciplined, until it was over.

“Alright.” Steve drew back and straightened up again. “Grit your teeth, Buck.”

The last ten blows were all hard blows—no more little taps, just snapping hits that tore through Bucky’s entire body, shooting fire and ice up his spine. When it was done, he couldn’t realize it at first, curling up against more hits. But Steve sat down next to him, rubbed a soothing hand up his back, taking him away from the hard wall of the bathtub and into the shelter of his skinny arms. Bucky was crying for good now, breath hitching in miserable little sobs.

“There you are. It’s okay. It’s over.” Steve kissed Bucky’s hair again and again. “You made it.”

Bucky could only cling to him, and shake, and try to swallow back his tears. Kindness was almost worse than torture. Or maybe the same thing. Both of them meant it was okay to let go.

“How are you doing?” Steve asked gently.

“G-good,” Bucky breathed out, pushing his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. “So g-good, j-just—”

“I got you.” Steve was moving as if to get up. “We need to get to the couch. Think you can do that in a little bit?”

Bucky wasn’t sure he could do it, but it was Steve asking him, and Steve could have anything, anything—and so he nodded shakily.

Steve still picked up on his hesitation and gave him another minute. Then he tightened his arms around him, pulling up. “C’mon, Buck. One last thing for me.”

 _Anything for you._ Bucky pushed up on very wobbly legs. His prosthetic ended up over Steve’s narrow shoulders. Even in his confused haze, most of his thoughts went to the metal against brittle bone. _Don’t hurt him._ They were limping out of the bathroom, down the hallway, into the living room, so open and so full of light. And then Bucky was lying down on the plump couch, and the fleece blanket was around him again, and Steve was there, smiling, and Bucky just snuggled in his embrace, hid his face in his neck, and felt wrapped in so much love and care it was easier than ever to drift away.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me cartwheel in the streets! :D Next chapter on Monday.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

 

“Wha… what time is it?”

“8pm, Buck.”

“Oh.” Bucky rubbed his eyes. “We weren’t late this time.”

“Nope.” Steve sounded proud. “Totally kept track of everything.”

Bucky snorted, drawing himself up on his elbows to give him a lazy grin. “Or we just started earlier.”

“Get dressed, you’re messing up my timetable,” Steve said haughtily—but he wasn’t a good actor and couldn’t quite keep from smiling.

 

*

 

Bucky took his time getting dressed, moving slowly, like he was coming out of a dream. His body felt frail and trembling, wracked with recent pain, but also overflowing with energy. The kind of rush you’d feel after skydiving: a great shock, and a great pleasure.

A sizzling sound shook him out of his daze. Now fully dressed, he moved out of the living room and found Steve making bacon and eggs in a pan. At the sound of Bucky’s footsteps, he looked over his shoulder.

“Want some? I’m starving.”

“Uh—”

“We still have to debrief, and you don’t live that close. Won’t be home before ten.”

“I could buy a sandwich on the way, you know,” Bucky said, but he was already sitting down at the kitchen table. Part of his residual trembling was probably due to hypoglycemia. “Breakfast for dinner, huh?”

“You bet.” Steve slid half the contents of the pan into his plate, then scraped the rest into his own. “You just gotta eat comfort food after a scene. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“Amen,” Bucky grinned.

Steve sat in front of him. “So. That was kind of intense.” He smiled shyly. “Was there… anything you didn’t like?”

“Nuh-huh,” Bucky managed enthusiastically through his mouthful of eggs. He swallowed and tried again. “It was all _great.”_

“You were crying towards the end.”

“Guess I tear up easy.” Bucky chased a piece of egg across his plate. “You… you don’t mind, right?”

“Just making sure.” Steve grinned. “It was really hot.”

Bucky had to laugh, because fucking _Doms_.

“And,” Steve went on, suddenly beaming, “really awesome job on that thumbs-up. You didn’t even give me time to worry, I gotta thank you.”

Bucky ducked his head. “Just—just trying to communicate and stuff.”

“Well, you were perfect.”

Bucky coughed. Then he went on, stammering, “A thing I really liked—”

He shut up. Steve looked at him.

“Yeah? Go on, Buck.”

“I liked when you—when uh—” He swallowed. “When you started caning me right there—the way you said— _we’re gonna do it now ‘cause I can’t wait_ —that was so… Like it was real, like you’d cornered me there and I was naked, I couldn't do anything, I had to take it.”

Steve’s grin was almost wider than his face. “Well,” he said. “Maybe we can experiment with some roleplay sometime.”

“Yeah, that—that could be nice.” Oh, God, Bucky was blushing again.

There was something else he’d loved. Something else Steve had done as though he couldn’t help himself. The _kiss,_ so deep, so passionate that for a moment it had almost felt like something bigger than the scene—so much that Bucky had begged for a second one, just to feel like that again—

Well.

Bucky should take a bit of distance, maybe. He hadn’t expected his scenes with Steve to get so intense so fast. That was all.

When they were done eating, Steve collected their plates, balancing them on one arm as he raised his free hand to cover up a huge yawn.

“Hate to kick you out, but we both need some sleep,” he said as he put them in the sink.

“Sure thing, I—” Bucky paused. “Aren’t you gonna wash these?”

“They need to soak,” Steve said vaguely.

“I can’t believe you’re the kind of guy who just leaves his dishes in the sink.”

“Get out of my dungeon, Bucky.”

Bucky barked a laugh, then went to get his jacket. He didn’t really feel like leaving. But he had no excuse to stay this time.

“Hey, uh—” Steve said on the threshold. “You wanna grab a beer tomorrow night? Or something? I just thought, since we all went to see a movie last time and all—”

Bucky was so surprised he didn’t even think before he spoke. “Sure. A beer. Totally.”

“Yeah?” Steve said with a smile.

A drink was exactly what he needed, Bucky decided. To see Steve in the real world—to remember he was just a guy and they didn’t know each other much, outside of the boundaries of a scene. It would be a great way of putting everything back in its place. Right?

“Yeah,” Bucky insisted, smiling back as he took a few steps towards the elevator. “Well. Cool. See you tomorrow then.”

It was all gonna work out _just_ fine.

*

 

The next morning, Bucky debated putting on the same clothes again just so Clint could notice and give him a hell-yeah-bro five, but he decided against it. He didn’t want people to start asking him more details about his new _thing._ Bucky was Steve’s client; that didn’t give him any bragging rights.

He threw on whatever clean stuff he had, then kissed Natasha on the cheek—she patted his entire face, eyes still closed, while she sipped her coffee—and went to work with a spring in his step. _Someone hit me in the balls last night!_ Definitely no bragging rights. It was so fucking unfair. Bucky felt like he’d gotten laid times a million.

“You’re cheerful,” Clint mumbled while accepting his ritual coffee to set it down on his station.

“Just well-rested,” Bucky said, which wasn’t even a lie. He’d passed out the moment he’d gotten home and woken up before his alarm clock. On a Friday. It was insane. “Tony here yet?”

“Haven’t seen him, you’re in for a quiet morning.” Clint yawned deeply. “Here, just—” But then he didn’t watch his elbow while opening the gate and almost knocked over his coffee. Thankfully, Bucky managed to save it, though some of it sloshed on his shirt.

“Aw, no,” Clint said. “Sorry, man.”

“No harm done, I’m about to change. Have a good day, Barton.”

Bucky almost skipped down the stairs as he went to the locker room. Today was a beautiful day, Tony wasn’t even here, and Bucky was getting a drink with Steve tonight. That was cool, right? Casual drinks with your Dom. Because hell _yeah_ he had a Dom now. He even had the bruises to show it. His life was awesome.

Humming a song, Bucky shimmied out of his jeans, kicked them across the empty room, then took off his shirt and lobbed it away. He loved having the place to himself. Standing in his boxers, he opened his locker and got out his company t-shirt and overalls, all black with the white SI star on the shoulder.

The door opened. “Hey, man, I got you another—”

It took Bucky’s brain a minute to realize what had just happened.

Clint was standing frozen at the threshold, with a clean shirt in hand. He was staring at Bucky. At Bucky’s back.

“Shit.” Bucky faced him fully, but it was too late. He knew the stripes on his back showed dark purple against his pale skin.

“Sorry,” Clint said. He looked stricken. “Shoulda knocked.”

“Clint, um—”

“Hey. S’fine.” He dropped the shirt on a bench; a crease had appeared between his brows. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

“Wait—”

But he was gone already, closing the door behind him.

For a second Bucky just stood there. Then he realized he was still half-naked and quickly dressed himself; the last thing he needed was for someone else to walk in on him. His good mood was all gone. An icy feeling was spreading in his stomach. This was bad. This was really really bad. He wasn’t sure what to do. Text Steve? Text Nat? No—no, of course not. This wasn’t anything professional expertise could solve. Bucky just had to deal with his own mess.

 

*

 

Since Tony was not in, Bucky had no qualms liberating himself from work an hour early so he could catch Clint before he left. Even then he almost missed him; Clint had gathered his things and was heading out the door, looking very unlike himself, lost in sullen thought. This, more than anything, gave Bucky the breath of courage he needed to draw his attention.

“Clint—hey, Clint!”

Bucky broke out into a jog to catch up. Clint visibly tensed; he didn’t look very happy to see Bucky, but still waited for him.

“I tried to find you at lunch,” Bucky said. “Can we talk? About this morning?”

Clint seemed unsure. “You want to talk about it?”

“Yeah. I think maybe you—there’s a chance you misinterpreted some stuff.”

Weariness passed over Clint’s face. “Yeah. That’s what I used to tell people, too.”

_Oh shit fuck no._

“Clint, um—I don’t think you understand—”

“Like I said,” Clint cut off. “You don’t needta explain yourself. I’ll forget what I saw, if that’s what you want. But when you’re ready to face it, well, I’ll be there.”

Bucky needed him to stop talking. “Just—come get a drink with me.”

“I gotta get home.”

“Please. Half an hour. I’ll never bother you again.”

There wasn’t much Clint could do. He visibly looked for an excuse, then gave a reluctant nod and followed Bucky into the subway. Bucky was aware the guy lived in Bed-Stuy, so he picked a train that would get them closer. He knew a few bars along that line, quiet enough at this hour that they wouldn’t mess with Clint’s hearing aids. On the way, Bucky texted Steve to let him know where he was, and that he might be late for drinks.

The answer came quickly. _Want me to meet you there instead?_

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek, then answered yes, if only so they could spend more time together. Clint still looked uncomfortable, but followed Bucky without question into the bar, sat in a booth, and brightened by a fraction when Bucky bought him a beer.

“Thanks.” He took a sip. “Look, we really don’t have to talk about—”

“I’m gay,” Bucky blurted.

Clint blinked at him. “Uh. Okay?”

“Okay. Good. Step one.” Bucky ran both hands through his hair. “I’m not just gay. That’s only a detail of what I am, actually.”

He hated this part. He’d heard about people losing their job over stuff like that. But it was mostly people who worked with kids. Bucky should be okay. Right?

He had to trust Clint anyway. He couldn’t let him believe the other thing.

“It’s, uh…” He winced at what he was about to say. “A Fifty Shades of Grey thing?”

Clint just stared.

“Though not really,” Bucky went on quickly, feeling like the entire BDSM community was glaring at him. “Because Fifty Shades _sucks._ But something like that, anyway. You get the gist.”

“But—” Clint had completely forgotten about his beer, which was lilting to the side. A sudden trickle on his fingers startled him. “Shit.” He righted it and blinked at Bucky. _“_ I mean… _You?”_

Bucky hadn’t expected that. “Why not me?”

“I don’t know, you’re—” Clint frowned with his whole face. “You’re _normal.”_

Bucky tried to smile. “We are normal people. Uh, Hollywood doesn’t do a great job of showing that.”

“I thought people couldn’t _really_ be like that. I mean, unless you’re rich and old and bored, and stuff.” Clint was still hesitant. “Are you messing with me?”

“I wouldn’t. And it’s not denial, either, I swear. I’m good, I really am. What you saw, um—I got those yesterday, and I had a great time. We cuddled for an hour afterwards. He made me eggs and bacon. We’re doing it again next week.”

“Oh,” Clint said. “Oh. Well. Alright.”

For a moment it seemed he could think of nothing else to say. Bucky couldn’t either. Clint looked at the label of his beer, like he expected to find another explanation in the fine print. Then he looked back up.

“I feel kinda stupid now.”

Bucky’s hands flew out. “No—oh fuck,” he hissed when he almost knocked over his own beer. “Please don’t feel bad. You’re—you’re a really great dude for reacting like you did. Most people would just look the other way.”

“I know,” Clint said quietly.

Bucky winced. Clint grimaced a smile in answer. “Yeah, guess we both know a lot about each other now.”

“I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean for you to say—”

“Naw, s’fine.” Clint took a swig of his beer. “I should be the one to apologize. I totally walked in on you, bro. Not like you rubbed anything in my face.”

“Well,” Bucky said, his throat tightening again with fear, “if you really wanna do me a solid, please don’t get me fired?”

“Fired?” Clint blinked. “What—for _that?”_

“Happens all the time. From what I’ve heard.”

“Dude, what kind of asshole—” Clint was so indignant he did knock over his beer this time; Bucky tried to catch it, but wasn’t as lucky as he’d been that morning and just knocked over his own. They both cursed and pulled the bottles back up, grabbing some napkins—a whole pile of napkins, because the stuff was everywhere.

“Aw, beer,” Clint said mournfully. “D’you have more napkins?—thanks—but seriously, man, we work with Tony Stark. If we’re gonna fire anyone for freaky shit…”

Bucky laughed for real this time. “Thanks, Clint. Wow.” The beer disaster was more or less contained. He exhaled and said again, “Thank you.”

“Well, we’re both morons, I guess,” Clint said with a half-smile, mopping up the last of the mess.

“Sounds about right.” Bucky gestured for two more beers, because fuck it. Clint had earned it and more.

“I just…” Clint was frowning again, though it looked more thoughtful now. He set aside the sopping napkins. “Look. You do whatever you want in your spare time, obviously. But I just don’t get how you could enjoy—I mean…”

“I get you. It’s pain, right? Shouldn’t feel good.” Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. At the end of the day, you have it or you don’t.”

“What if you get injured? Your back—it’s a mess, dude.”

“I know.” Bucky couldn’t help glowing with pride, and tried to tone it down a little when he saw Clint looking at him weirdly. “I mean, yeah, it’s all a bit risky, I guess. But we communicate all the time to make sure everyone’s still having fun.”

“Still, that sounds…”

“I know,” Bucky said again. “But you end up learning a lot about how bodies work. Like, if you wanna do serious rope work, you gotta know how to prevent a nerve injury; if you’re gonna whip someone, you learn to avoid their kidneys at all costs—lots of anatomy stuff like that...”

He was parroting everything he’d been told during the only fetish night he’d ever attended, but Clint’s wariness seemed to fade by a fraction. “Huh.”

“I’m still kinda new to this, you know,” Bucky went on. “If you got questions, you should really ask my Dom. He’s great.” He checked his phone. “And also he’s meeting me here in… ten minutes now. It’s okay if you wanna bail. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Clint shrugged, as if to say he was already out of his comfort zone anyway. “Guess I can say hi.”

There was a hint of _something_ in his voice. Bucky thought maybe Clint wasn’t entirely convinced yet, and wanted to see Steve and Bucky together so he could gauge the situation for himself. It was weird. Only the day before he was just Bucky’s distant colleague. But it was a nice kind of weird, Bucky supposed.

A couple of minutes later, Steve walked into the room; Bucky spotted him all at once and it sent a flutter through his chest. He had to stop himself from standing up and waving.

Steve looked around, lighting up when he saw Bucky, and picked his way among what looked like an American football team—which made him look even scrawnier. His clothes were just as casual and wholesome as the last time Bucky had seen him in public. Apparently Steve wore black only in his dungeon, like a uniform.

“Hey, Buck,” he said. His smile seemed a bit dimmer as he reached their table—maybe he was tired from his work day, too. “Who’s your friend?”

“Clint. From work. Clint, this is Steve.”

Clint was staring—he obviously had expected someone very different. Bucky bit back a grin. _Yeah, pal, me too. But boy am I glad I was wrong._

“Yes—hi,” Clint managed eventually. He shook hands with Steve, who dragged a chair close.

“Nat’s in the neighborhood,” he said. “I could tell her to join us?”

“Sure,” Bucky said, though he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. _Stupid._ Clint was already here anyway. And besides, so what if it wasn’t just Steve and him?

Steve sent his text, then looked up at Bucky. “So, um—why the change of plans?”

Bucky welcomed the occasion to chase his thoughts away. “Well…” Now that he wasn’t afraid for his job or for Clint’s feelings, the whole situation was starting to seem kinda funny. “Clint here walked in while I was changing.”

Steve’s blue eyes opened wide. “Oh. Are you—”

“It’s okay,” Clint said, a little stilted. “Bucky already explained about the whips and the bees.”

Steve snorted a laugh. “Thanks for taking it so well, then. A lot of people would have freaked out.”

“Hey, I’m not a delicate flower, I’ve done stuff too!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Like what?”

“One time I handcuffed my girlfriend to the bed!” Clint said triumphantly. “So _there.”_

“Were they furry handcuffs?”

“Yeah. Why? Are those bad?” Clint asked, frowning when they started laughing. “Hey, don’t make fun of a newbie!”

They had only barely finished to explain why furry cuffs sucked when Natasha showed up. She was stunning as usual, in a red-and-black leather dress, complete with a matching jacket. Clint looked like he’d just seen Jesus and found him hot.

Steve got up to say hi; while they did, Clint leaned towards Bucky, tapping at his shoulder. “Is she—is she like you?”

Bucky blinked, then understood. “Yes and no. She’s more like Steve.”

“Oh.” Clint’s expression melted into a complex blend of horny and distressed. “Aw.”

“Heyyy,” Sam called, strolling in like he owned the place. “Look who Tasha brought along!”

So in the end it was another impromptu kinky soirée, with a bonus Clint who quickly started wincing when the noise became too much for his hearing aids. He was about to leave when both Steve _and_ Natasha revealed themselves fluent in sign language. Clint was so stunned he sat right back down and looked at Natasha like she was the second coming of Christ (and still hot).

As for Bucky, he felt like leaning his forehead on the table, because of fucking _course_ Steve knew sign language and used it to make strangers more comfortable. He probably also helped little old ladies cross the street and rescued cats in his spare time. To top it all, as _Bucky_ didn’t know sign language, he ended up chatting for the rest of the night with Sam goddamn Wilson who insisted on roasting him about every two sentences. Life was deeply unfair.

When they all got up to leave, a slightly unsteady Clint stammered his way through asking Natasha Romanov’s number. To the surprise of everyone, he actually got it, which made him look more worried than anything else, like he didn’t think he’d get this far and had no clue what to do now. Sam was laughing, Steve had gone to grab his jacket, and Bucky felt morose, maybe because he was too drunk now, or because all in all he had barely talked to Steve all night. He was stupid and childish, but he couldn’t help thinking that it had been supposed to be just the two of them.

 _What am I doing,_ he asked himself at last.

The alcohol made him strangely lucid, though he couldn’t walk entirely straight. He wished he’d been sitting next to Steve. He wished they had eloped like last time to drink milkshakes and talk for hours. He wished he had ruffled his hair, squeezed his shoulder, held his hand, kissed him goodnight.

_What am I doing?_

 

*

 

“You’re moping.”

“Leave me and my hangover alone,” Bucky mumbled, burrowing deeper into the couch.

“Move or I’ll sit on your feet.”

Bucky reluctantly folded up his legs, drawing his feet in so Natasha could sit on the couch.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Go call Barton, shoo.”

“You’re not Hangover Bucky,” Natasha said, ignoring him. “ _He_ finds grandeur in his misery. Like a true Russian. _You_ miserable toad are Moping Bucky.”

“My gran was Russian, Nat. Just her. You remember that, right?”

“What are you moping about?”

 _Oh, what the hell,_ Bucky thought suddenly. He was tired and sad and he had a headache, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about Steve since—since he’d met him, really. He had been worried about going to a sex worker, worried he’d disappoint himself by being unable to look past their job—but he’d ended up with the opposite problem. If anyone could answer his questions, it would be Nat.

“Did you ever—” He cleared his throat. “Would you ever date one of your clients?”

Natasha looked at him. He half-expected a disapproving lecture or worse, a pitying look. But she just seemed to consider her answer, so thoughtfully that he sat up straighter, suddenly scared of what she might say.

“No, wait, I’m changing it back. _Did you_ ever date one of your clients?”

This time, her answer came right away. “No.”

“Oh,” Bucky said miserably. “Oh. Well. Okay.”

Natasha looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but abstained out of charity. “It’s not law, James. Think of it as any workplace. People don’t usually date their colleagues—except sometimes they do. No matter the rules we set for ourselves, we’re all people talking to people.”

“But you _wouldn’t_ date a client,” Bucky muttered.

“No, I wouldn’t. Boundaries are especially important in my line of work. You know that.”

“I know. I know.” Bucky stared at his knees. “I don’t wanna be the creepy client.”

“Then don’t be.”

He scowled. Did that mean he should take his pathetic crush to the grave? Or that he should stop seeing Steve altogether? Maybe Natasha thought he had to figure it out by himself. Or maybe she was still deeply uncomfortable with feelings. He remembered how she was in college—incredible how people could see this awkward dork and mistake her for an Ice Queen.

As she moved to leave, Bucky said, “Hey. Be careful with Clint.”

“Because he’s vanilla?”

“Because bad shit happened to him.”

Natasha blinked exactly once. “I wasn’t planning on jumping him.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t tell him about hardcore kink stuff just to make him squirm.”

She looked at him for another second, then gave a half-smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe you should think about your own problems, now.”

Bucky rolled to the side and buried his face in the cushions. For now he was just going to mope. He didn’t know what else to do.

 

*

 

Well, Bucky still didn’t know what to do, but it was Thursday again.

He went in the shower and did extreme acrobatics so as not to miss a spot when he shaved between his legs. The renewed smoothness, the feeling of being naked and vulnerable for Steve’s taking, the fact that Bucky had done this for him—it made everything else worth it, even the inevitable itch of regrowth.

Feeling very aware of his underclothing nudity, Bucky rode the subway to Steve’s fancy building and knocked on the door not two minutes later, slightly breathless. Maybe he’d been walking a bit too fast.

The door opened.

“Hi,” said Steve—and he grabbed Bucky’s coat to pull him down into a searing kiss.

Bucky only had time to make a surprised noise before his mind completely blanked out; he opened his mouth on instinct, and moaned when Steve’s tongue pushed in. Closing his eyes, he let him take the lead. The kiss was deep and thorough and _possessive,_ and by the time Steve was done Bucky wanted to sink to his knees.

“Wow,” he gasped out. “Hi.”

Slightly out of breath as well, Steve took a step back and gave Bucky a shove towards the bathroom. “Go,” he said. “There’s all you need in there.”

Bucky went, wondering—but he didn’t have to wonder for long. The shower was outfitted with a nozzle to clean himself.

If Bucky didn’t trip over his own feet getting undressed, it was a very near thing. He dropped his clothes in a disheveled pile, sat on the toilet to get what he could out of the way, then stepped into the bathtub and set to cleaning himself thoroughly. He had never considered this part to be erotic, but he was doing this for Steve, for his Dom, getting himself _ready_ for—for—

By the time he was done, he was getting hard already. He got out, dried himself up, then briefly considered dressing again; but he didn’t really want to. It would make no sense. He wanted his body to be a gift. He wanted to show Steve how entirely he belonged to him. So he walked into the living room fully naked, and knelt down as soon as he could, heart hammering.

Steve had been waiting for him; he seemed calm, but Bucky was watching him with such rapt attention he couldn’t miss the small hints of his excitement.

“Hey.” Steve looked Bucky over appreciatively , lingering over his soft, vulnerable genitals. “That’s real nice, Buck. Guess the lesson worked, huh?”

The welts on Bucky’s back were still faintly there. He was at half-mast already, losing himself so quickly it almost frightened him. All he could do was nod, his throat too dry, unable to take his eyes off Steve.

Steve cupped the back of Bucky’s head and smiled at him for a while, so warm and affectionate something inside Bucky squirmed. Distance—he really needed—

And then, like he did this every day, Steve unbuckled his belt.

“Since you’re already kneeling…”

Bucky’s cock finished filling so quickly it jerked to attention. He rolled his hips against nothing, unable to stop himself. But Steve wasn’t even opening his pants yet—his belt loose, he slipped it out and crouched beside Bucky, using the leather strap to bind his wrists in his back.

Bucky rested his forehead on his skinny shoulder. His breath was coming out shaky. Today would definitely be about sex. But this time he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Steve kissed the side of his head, then got up. “If something feels wrong, all you need to do is shake your head real hard. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah.” Bucky already sounded breathless. “Yes.”

Steve smiled at him then went to his drawers, pulling out a few items in unmarked boxes. Bringing them back, he opened the first one—it had condoms in it, which filled Bucky with a weird rush of fondness. Steve being so consistently careful about everything was—well, it should have been the bare minimum, but Bucky had enough experience to know it wasn’t. He had never met someone like Steve, and it only had very little to do with the fact that he was a Dom for hire. Steve was so good he made it look _easy,_ and it made Bucky want to be good, too. Not just during the scene. He actually wanted to try and be a better person, to be mindful of others at all times, to make everything easier and brighter just by being in the room. To be good, to be _good._

He must have already been halfway down to subspace, because he wasn’t conflicted about his feelings for Steve anymore. How could he not feel what he felt, for someone like Steve Rogers? And every Thursday night, Bucky had a chance to show him how deeply his devotion went. Maybe he already had everything he needed. A little voice told him he wouldn’t feel like this afterwards, told him real life was more complex—but he didn’t care. This wasn’t real life. Right now there was nothing but the belt around his wrists, and what was going to happen next.

Steve opened the second box. There, nestled in white velvet, was a vicious looking spider-gag.

Precome beaded on Bucky’s dick, which made him flush in shame. Steve looked pleased and collected it on his fingertips.

“Well, see,” he said, “that way you still get a taste.”

He brought his fingers to Bucky’s lips. Bucky licked them clean without hesitation, a moan catching in his throat. He had never tasted himself, but this wasn’t really himself—it was all Steve. He looked up at him again.

“Jesus.” That was Steve, sounding undone. “Alright, open up...”

Bucky did, and the spider gag came to fit in his mouth. The ring was padded with leather so it wasn’t too hard on his teeth. It made it absolutely impossible for him to close his mouth, though, and once the strap was buckled tight behind his head, Bucky was already beginning to drool. He stared imploringly at Steve.

Steve bit his lip. Then he smiled. “Pretty sure you’re gonna feel as good as you look.”

Then he took himself out of his underwear, still fully dressed otherwise, casual as anything. Bucky couldn’t look away, watching him roll the condom on, and he couldn’t wait to have his mouth full, still looking at him with pleading eyes, kneeling bound, hard, naked, made to wait, completely undignified. If this was a gentle first step towards more humiliation play, it was a rousing fucking _success._

“Okay.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s hair at his nape, none too gently. “You just relax and take it.”

When he pushed in, Bucky closed his eyes, shivering all the way down to his toes. Steve felt thick and hot, taking all the space. He went in slowly, and Bucky couldn’t even use his tongue or lips, breathing fast through his nose, twisting his wrists against the belt as he unconsciously tried to—what? Touch Steve? Touch himself? The important part was that he couldn’t. He could only kneel there while Steve used him.

Steve pushed further into Bucky’s mouth, who kept himself slack and open, letting out muffled noises when Steve started rolling his hips, hitting the back of his throat. Steve wasn’t big, not enough to make Bucky gag, which was just fine with him. Visions moved like flames inside his head, _his mouth forced open, the hand in his hair so tight it hurt his scalp—_ and it was a peculiar delight, to go back and forth between his fantasies of violence and the intense reality they took root in. When Bucky cracked his eyes open, Steve was watching him, flushed with pleasure, still moving in a slow back-and-forth, one hand in Bucky’s hair and the other cradling his jaw, watching him almost like he was trying to memorize his face to draw it later. Bucky closed his eyes again.

When Steve pulled out, Bucky was surprised; he buckled forward and drool spilled out of his mouth. He found it disgusting, which only made his humiliation more real. He was disgusting but he couldn’t help it; Steve wanted him to feel that way. Because Bucky had hinted that he would enjoy it, and Steve wanted Bucky to enjoy himself.

“Still okay?” Steve smiled at his nod. “I think I want to keep you gagged.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, hoping the look on his face would be enough to convey _for what?_

“For what’s next.” Steve beamed at him.

That was why he’d stopped. So he’d be still hard for Bucky’s ass. Bucky closed his eyes again, trying to keep it together.

“Come on,” Steve said, walking across the room.

Shuffling on his knees while bound was no easy task, but Bucky was getting better at reading between the lines, and he was pretty sure Steve didn’t want him to get up on his feet. Or maybe Bucky was projecting, because he did love this with a twisted passion, and he wanted to strain and struggle to get across the room, to humble himself even more. When he did get there, his knees chafed raw and his mouth still severely held open, Steve smiled and cupped his jaw again, bending down to kiss him. It was an odd kiss; his lips couldn’t quite fit Bucky’s stretched ones, but his tongue went unopposed into his mouth, mimicking the blowjob before. It was invasive and weird and thrilling and Bucky was so hard he might just pass out.

“On your back. Here—” Steve freed Bucky’s hands so he could lie down. “Give me your wrists again. That’s good.”

Bucky saw there was a steel ring embedded in the wall—a vertical line of steel rings, in fact, so he could be tied at any height from the ground. He had never noticed them before; the perspective kept them hidden between the far corner of the living room and the biggest chest of drawers.

Steve fetched some leather handcuffs and chained Bucky’s wrists to the lowest ring. Afterwards he took some rope and spent a couple of minutes tying up Bucky’s thighs to another ring further up the wall. It was a simple but strict tie, which kept Bucky’s legs in the air, leaving his ass completely exposed.

He was gleaming with sweat, pre-come dribbling into a mess on his abs, his arms already straining in the unforgiving tie. He felt like he was trying to get even harder, even though it wasn’t physically possible at this point.

“Feeling alright?” Steve asked, looking at him like he always did during a scene, so intensely _happy,_ almost shining with it, like Bucky’s pain and humiliation were the best goddamn thing he’d ever seen.

Bucky could only nod shakily.

“It’s gonna get worse, don’t worry.” Steve opened another drawers and pulled out something Bucky had never seen before. It looked like a dildo, but hollow. Steve must have noticed his curiosity, because he sat next to him and showed him the inside. It was covered in nubs.

“That’s for me,” Steve said. “Feels great. Look—” He fitted it over his cock, tucking his balls through a hole at the base. He was still fully clothed, and the cock sleeve made it look like no part of him was naked now, in sharp contrast with Bucky’s close-shaven vulnerability.

Steve got back up, holding his sleeved cock in hand. “And _that’s_ for you.”

Belatedly, Bucky noticed the toy meant Steve’s cock was now twice as big.

He moaned and pushed his hips up to show that he was _totally_ on board with this, holy shit, yes please and thank you. Steve grinned, but still crouched down again to undo Bucky’s gag one-handed, despite his noises of protest.

“I cou’a—” Bucky worked his jaw and tried again. “I could have kept it in…”

“I know.” Steve put the gag down. “But I wanna fuck you dry, so we need full verbal communication.”

Bucky blinked at him from his awkward position. “No… no lube?”

“No, there’ll be lots of lube,” Steve amended. “But no prep.” He knelt in front of Bucky, putting a hand on the exposed underside of his thigh. “You know your body best. Think we can try? You did say you liked _uncomfortable.”_

“I do,” Bucky said feverishly. “I do, I do. Fuck. I—I trust you. Do it.”

Steve kissed the inside of his knee, just over the rope. Then he took a small bottle of lube from the condom box and slicked up the cock sleeve.

“Are—are you really going to feel something with this thing on?” Bucky said, straining his neck to see.

“Not that much, especially with a condom. But I’m like you, Buck, I don’t do this for sex.” Steve grinned. “I do it for the pain.”

And then he positioned himself and started pushing in.

The cock sleeve meant he was unyielding, unnaturally rigid, forcing Bucky open at a torturously slow pace, making him gasp and brace his entire body with fiery, orgasmic pain.

“Alright?” Steve asked.

“Yes—yes—fuck—slow…”

Thanks to the lube there was no chafing, but the lack of prep made Bucky feel every last inch of the cock pushing into him. It felt like Steve was trying to shove a tree branch up there. If he hadn’t been going so torturously slow, it wouldn’t have been possible at all, but as things were it was just on the right side of unbearable, like all the prep all at once. Bucky tugged at his chains, threw his head back, chest heaving, and found himself abruptly on the verge of orgasm, so completely overwhelmed his body needed to break in some way.

“I’m gonna—stop, stop, I’m gonna—!”

Steve stopped, braced over Bucky, buried halfway into him. His pupils were blown. He was staring at Bucky like he wanted to eat him. Bucky was shaking violently. He was in a lot of pain, but it was an amazing pain—not the urgent scream of injury, but the toe-curling growl of his abused body forced into compliance.

Steve pushed his floppy blond hair out of his eyes, shivering too, smiling wide.

“Should have thought of a cock ring for you,” he panted. “Too late to get one now. Don’t think I could leave you if I tried.”

He started pushing in again. Bucky arched, gasping with pain and pleasure and—something else now. What Steve had just said echoed in him. His mind was spinning it into something so intensely _loving._ As though Steve wanted this more than anything.

And _that,_ Bucky realized with a pang of guilt, was really why he’d loved the ball-busting so much last time. _You said you couldn’t wait to do it._ It went beyond Bucky’s abuse fantasies. What he had truly loved was the thought of being irresistible to Steve.

And this thought plagued him now, as Steve forced another inch of his sleeved cock into him, grabbing at the ropes on Bucky’s thighs to spread him further. It hurt so much and it was so _fucking_ good, so amazingly invasive, so overwhelming for Bucky’s body and mind. _Like you couldn’t wait to do it._ Like Steve could _never_ wait to take him. Bucky’s ego was out of control. Just because he _liked_ Steve, it didn’t mean—it didn’t mean he could fantasize about stuff like that. Daydreaming about kidnappings and beatings and all sorts of violation had never disturbed him. It was all just fiction. But projecting his wishes onto a true person’s feelings— _that_ made him balk so much he actually moved away from Steve, tugging at his chains to get closer to the wall.

But of course he couldn’t escape. Steve was all up in him. But Bucky knew he had to. What had Nat said? _If you don’t want to be the creepy client, don’t be._ Yes. Either by suppressing his feelings, or by removing himself from the equation. Bucky had just assumed he could do the first thing, unwilling to really think about it, because it was Thursday and he wanted his Thursday, he had waited so long to find someone like Steve, but as it turned out, he couldn’t distance himself. He was addicted to Steve, addicted to the thought of seeing him, talking to him, wanting to keep him for himself—had he actually _stood up_ his friends at the movies? Had he actually _resented_ them for showing up for drinks? Bucky had to stop himself now—he didn’t deserve Steve’s clever dungeon, didn’t deserve Steve’s skill and talent and passion, not when he was twisting it all into greed and envy, he had to stop—he just couldn’t do it, he shouldn’t be doing it, it all had to stop, and why wasn’t Steve _stopping?_ Why was he still hurting him—

Steve had, in fact, already stopped. “Bucky? Talk to me.”

Bucky wildly searched his own mind. He didn’t know what was happening anymore, but he knew he wasn’t in a good place and he had to make it all end. What was the word for that? He tossed his head one side, then the other. He couldn’t remember—

“Stop,” he stammered, feeling so stupid that he _couldn’t remember,_ Steve had been so careful and now—wait, the movies, Natasha’s movie—“ _Soldat!”_ he gasped, “ _Soldat_ , please, I’m sorry, _Soldat—”_

The first thing Steve did was pull out, careful not to do it too fast, not to hurt him. Then he tugged on the clips and the ropes and everything just fell open, freeing Bucky all at once.

Bucky was so surprised that he just lay there blinking. He had felt so thoroughly owned, so deeply trapped—and yet it had all unraveled in less than a minute.

Steve was pulling out of the cock sleeve now; he set it aside, straightened up his clothes, then shuffled close to Bucky. “Hey,” he said, his voice steady and calm—but his hands were shaking again. “Bucky. Can you speak?”

Surprise was still freezing Bucky’s mind. He was catching his breath. What had just happened? Why had he made it stop?

“I—” he said. “I’m fine, I—”

“Did I hurt you?”

 _“No,”_ Bucky said at once. “No. I don’t know, I just—”

The awful realization that he had just ruined the scene was beginning to settle in. _Why_ the fuck had he done that?

“I don’t know why I said that,” he said. “My brain just—it took a wrong turn and—”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Steve said, helping him to sit up. There was an anxious crease between his brows. “The important thing is that you made me stop.”

Bucky stared at him. “But I didn’t want you to stop.”

And that, of course, had been his reason. He could feel it now, in his hammering heart. Steve was so genuine, so concerned for _him,_ and it felt so great to have his attention—Bucky wanted nothing more than to kneel for him, to open his body and his heart to him, to give him everything, everything, and then to go out for drinks and to watch a movie and to hold his hand in the street and kiss him before going to work—

His prosthetic whirred, the plating readjusting itself down the length of his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tucking his arm close to make it quiet down. He pushed to get to his feet. “I—I should probably get dressed. I’ll be right back.”

His clothes were still in the bathroom, of course. He didn’t look at himself in the mirror as he pulled on his pants and his shirt. _You ruined everything._ But not just then. He had ruined it all from the moment he’d let himself get too attached—but he couldn’t even trace the beginning of that. It was as though he had always felt this way.

When he was done, he did look at himself in the glass, searching his own expression. What could he do now? Go back out and tell Steve he was falling for him? So much that he’d had to stop their scene, because it wasn’t for real and it had sent him into a self-loathing spin?

He didn’t want to do it. He was pretty sure that if he did, he couldn’t be Steve’s client anymore. And he couldn’t let go of that, not when he’d just found it and it was so _right._ But—could they go on now? Could Bucky go on, now that he had come clean to himself?

He just wanted to regroup for now. When Steve was so close to him he couldn’t _think._ Right now Bucky only wished he could undress again and go back into the living room to pick things up where they had left them. His thoughts were chasing each other in circles, opposing arguments melting into each other until he couldn’t tell up from down. He didn’t know if it was better to speak, or to keep quiet. He needed—he needed some distance. To think. Maybe talk to Natasha again. Bucky took a deep breath, then nervously tied up his hair and went out of the bathroom.

Steve was waiting in the kitchen, staring at the wall. When he heard Bucky he almost stood at attention.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Bucky was relieved to find himself marginally calmer. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, I swear. I want to tell you what happened, but I’m not entirely sure, myself. I think I just need a little while to figure it out.”

“Okay.” Steve’s face was still crumpled. “But you’re alright?”

Bucky made himself smile. “I’m great, Steve. I was so fucking turned on. I—I kinda hate myself for sending it down the drain.”

“Please, don’t,” Steve said at once. “Like I said. It’s okay to make it stop even if you’re worried about ruining the mood. _Especially_ then.”

“Yeah,” Bucky repeated, hollow. He _had_ behaved like a responsible sub, on paper anyway.

Steve appeared to notice that Bucky had put all his clothes back on, including his jacket and shoes.

“You’re… you’re going home?”

“I think so.” Bucky winced. “I did kinda ruin the mood, didn’t I.”

Steve was pale, but smiled. “I don’t think you could ruin anything if you tried.”

Bucky’s internal cinematography came alive again. It was time to go. 

“Hey,” he said. He squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll see you next Thursday.”

Steve looked somewhat relieved, though he still seemed off-balance. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky wanted to kiss him. He moved his hand away. “Good night, Steve.”

 

*

 

Bucky sat in the subway, his body still sore from the aborted scene, clamoring for satisfaction. His mind was a jumble of thoughts. He couldn’t stop thinking about Steve, left alone in his dungeon, with the bundle of ropes, the cock sleeve he would have to wash, the stupid pathetic mess of things Bucky had made, the horrible sadness of a carefully crafted scene crumbling into failure.

Oh, come the _fuck_ on, Bucky told himself. He was just being overdramatic because he was still too close to it all. And also they hadn’t—

He froze.

The subway kept going with a regular staccato, flashing lights, the angry whisper coming through a girl’s headphones, all of it only barely reaching Bucky who sat there, feeling only icy realization.

They hadn’t done any aftercare.

His first thought, his first stupid and selfish thought, was to check himself for signs of a drop. Was he just feeling bummed out, or was it a spiral? He did kinda feel like shit. But he didn’t think—it wasn’t because of what had been done to him. More like what _hadn’t_ been done to him, the frustration and the helplessness, of not knowing what to do about Steve—and then his body really went ice cold, because _Steve._

He had said last time— _I hurt people, I need to come back from that too._

Bucky got out at the next stop.

 _What are you doing?_ He knew what he was doing. _Are you actually doing this?_ He was, it didn’t feel real, but he was—going up and down the escalators, hurrying along the hallways. He had to go back. He had to make sure. Steve was probably fine, but Steve was also not in Bucky’s head—Bucky had told him _nothing._ For all Steve knew, he had triggered a bad episode in Bucky, to the point of making him flee the apartment, and Bucky hadn’t even stopped to tell him otherwise, Steve had gotten no explanation, nothing at all.

Bucky leapt into the opposite train just before the doors closed. God, how had he gone so far on the line? His thoughts had been wandering—but now that he was going back, he felt like he had an infinite numbers of stops to go. He kept counting them in his mind, frustrated that they didn’t go down faster. _Hurry, hurry—_ and when finally he could leave the train, he did run out this time, hurrying up the stairs, out into the darkened street, into the fancy marble building.

The elevator ride was a long vertical line of torment. Maybe Bucky was being completely stupid—maybe Steve had gone to _bed—_

When it opened, Bucky walked to Steve’s door and stayed there, suddenly unable to knock.

What if Steve _had_ gone to bed?

Bucky called him, holding the phone in front of him, as if it might keep it from disturbing Steve somehow. Five eternal seconds went by before the call went through.

_“Bucky?”_

He wasn’t sure, but he thought Steve’s voice wasn’t entirely steady.

“Hey,” he said. “Did you… did you go to sleep?”

 _“No, no, I’m here,”_ definitely trying to keep his voice firm, _“what’s up?”_ and Bucky knew, with a pang, that Steve would stay up all night talking to him on the phone if Bucky said it was what he needed.

So Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m outside your door.”

It was only a couple of seconds before Steve unlocked it, then pulled it open.

He looked pale, off-balance, his eyes slightly red. From where he stood, Bucky could see Steve had already tidied up the living room.

“Bucky, what—what are you doing here? Why did you come back?” He was clutching white-knuckled to the doorknob. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Bucky said at once. “I needed to tell you that again. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve looked completely disoriented and it broke Bucky’s heart.

“Are you…” Bucky wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “Is this dropping? For you?”

Steve startled. “What? No. No, Buck, I’m fine.”

This time Bucky wanted to smile. _So you’re not perfect after all._ Steve talked big, told him to always ask for help, and here he was, lying to Bucky’s face, so completely obvious, because he looked so shaken up and so miserable and he was such a terrible liar. Bucky really had fucked up, but coming back had been the right decision.

“Okay, it’s not,” he said. “Can I hug you, though?”

Steve frowned defensively. For a second he looked like he wanted to say no.

“That’s what I came back for, really,” Bucky said. “Aftercare and all. But I’m not—I mean, one word and I’ll go.” Already his certainty was crumbling. “Is this creepy? I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Steve blurted. He raised a hand to his face to hide the emotion there. When he spoke, he sounded wrecked. “No, it’s okay, it’s not…”

Cautiously, awkwardly, Bucky said, “Hey—” and stepped forward, and slipped his arms around Steve, and pulled him close. Steve exhaled and clung to him, burrowed into him, making Bucky hug him even tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky said. “I can’t believe I—”

“Shut up, shut up,” Steve managed, relief shaking in his voice. “Just shut up for a second, Buck.”

Bucky pressed his nose against Steve’s golden hair, closed his eyes, and did just that.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're curious: furry handcuffs suck because they're actually cheap metal or plastic handcuffs under all that neon fluff. They're not designed to struggle against—if they're metal you might injure yourself pulling at them, and if they're plastic they'll just break. ^^ Leather cuffs are the way to go, my dudes.
> 
> Comments make me melt into a puddle. Last chapter... on Wednesday! It's my assigned date for the RBB. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

Steve made tea, because of course he did. Bucky waited for him to be done, hovering mutely by his side. Without having discussed it, they both knew it was time for Bucky to confess what his safewording had actually been about, and he tried to work up his nerve.

When Steve was done, putting the teacups on a tray, Bucky headed for the living room—but Steve called him back.

“No, this way, Bucky.”

A thrill went through Bucky when he realized what this meant. Already Steve was walking down the hallway, towards the three doors that had never opened for Bucky. 

“What—” Bucky cleared his throat, following him. “What’s in there?”

“Oh, just glorified closets,” Steve mumbled, careful to keep the steaming cups balanced. “The first one’s for bondage furniture, and the second one for art stuff.”

On a normal day, the mention of dungeon pieces big enough to be stored in a separate room would have made Bucky light up with fevered fantasies. But right now, in the quiet strangeness of midnight, anticipating the conversation to come, he was more interested by Steve’s _art stuff,_ picturing him with paint on his nose, or deep into Photoshop with huge headphones on his head.

He didn’t ask what the third room was, because it was obvious. There was only one possibility left. But his heart still beat faster as Steve opened the door.

The bedroom was wonderfully untidy. Steve’s bed was unmade, the nightstand overflowing with books, clothes spilling out of the closet, postcards and old posters on the wall. It was nothing like the dungeon—his workplace, really, always so neat and impersonal. Out of this whole huge apartment, he’d kept only this tiny room to himself. Bucky felt something like religion in his heart. Even during their sessions, he hadn’t been as close to Steve as he was now.

Steve sat on his bed and looked up, blinking when he saw Bucky hovering by the door. For the first time that night, a crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s okay to come in.”

Bucky obeyed, sat meekly on the bed, and took a cup when it was offered. It wasn’t spicy chai this time. Just something quiet and tame, like chamomile, maybe. He could feel it warm his right hand, could see it steam up his left.

There was a silence. Bucky knew he was expected to speak now. His stomach was twisting again, like it had on the very first day, and he had to clear his throat before he found his voice.

“So. I’m warning you, this—this is gonna sound pretty stupid.” He swallowed. “Steve, I—I like you. Um. Maybe a bit too much. I’ve been trying not to think about it, because I didn’t wanna be creepy. But earlier, when you were… when we were…”

He bit his lip.

“It was all I could think about. I even started imagining stuff. Like maybe it was for real, maybe you secretly knew how I felt, and that—that—I couldn’t let myself go down that road.” He shook his head with a faint smile at himself. “But I guess I’ve been kind of a drama queen about it. I was all… caught up in that intense headspace, and I ended up scaring you. I’m sorry.”

There. Natasha had been right in the end: all Bucky had to do was _not_ be the creepy client. Which meant owning up to his feelings, so Steve could decide for himself how he wanted to handle them.

“If you want me to go, it’s fine,” Bucky said. “Whatever you want to do is fine by me.”

For a couple of seconds he didn’t even dare look up at him. Then he did—and blinked. Steve was just sitting there, staring at him with a baffled expression.

 _“That’s_ why you safeworded?” he asked at last.

“Yeah.”

“But—” Steve frowned like something genuinely didn’t compute. “You don’t find me boring?”

He made it sound like an unspoken evidence between them, but to Bucky it completely came out of left field. “What? _Boring?”_

Steve gave a little shrug. “Yeah, people tend to think that of me.”

“Who the fuck—” Bucky wanted to get closer to him, but they both had cups of steaming tea in their lap and he stopped himself. He didn’t want a repeat of the Great Beer Flood. “Steve, how could _anybody_ think that of you?”

Steve looked unsure. “It’s just… every time I tried to see you outside of a scene, we never ended up talking. And, I mean, I haven’t exactly been subtle about… I just figured you couldn’t be that interested.”

“We literally left Sam and Nat alone at the movies—”

“That doesn’t count, it was my fault.” There was a wrinkle between Steve’s brows now. “Besides, when they came back, in the diner, you only talked to Sam. And last night for drinks, I thought—it’s stupid but I thought it’d be just us, and then you changed bars and Clint was there, and you talked to Sam all night again.”

“Because he _gets on my nerves,”_ Bucky said, so appalled he spilled some tea in his lap this time. “Fuck—”

He looked around for a place to put his cup, but there wasn’t one, and he couldn’t give it to Steve because Steve had one, too. Why the hell had they made tea?

“I _wanted_ it to be just us,” he went on. “But Clint had walked in on me so I had to talk to him—but he wasn’t gonna stay afterwards—but then he did stay, because he liked Nat, and then you all started signing so I was stuck talking to Sam—”

Steve blinked at him.

“And I—wait, fuck, hold on.” Bucky put his cup down on the floor. _“There.”_ He straightened up and met Steve’s blue eyes. “Steve, you’re… you’re the _least_ boring person I’ve ever met.”

“You say that ‘cause we’ve been playing a lot.” Steve looked more insecure than ever. “But I’m not that exciting when I’m not Domming people.”

“We’re sitting in your bedroom drinking chamomile. Do I look bored to you?”

“Yeah, well, maybe you got a chamomile fetish.”

“Okay—first of all, put your goddamn cup on the nightstand,” Bucky said, taking it from his hands to do it himself. “Now, listen to me—”

His words dried in his throat. He was very close to him now, and he felt it in his whole body, the vibration that made him want to get close, like they did during aftercare, when he was all wrapped up in Steve, perfectly safe and content.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He still wasn’t sure how Steve felt about him.

“Steve—” He reached out, then stopped himself. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

Steve wasn’t listening at all; he still had that divot between his brows. “You said you didn’t wanna date your Dom.”

“That’s because I didn’t know you.” Bucky took a breath. “Can I kiss you? Please—just tell me yes or no.”

Steve stared at him in mute bafflement for another couple of seconds. Then his lips stretched into a slow, slow smile.

“You know, I think I’m really into you asking permission for stuff.”

Bucky stared at him in disbelief. “Oh my _God._ You fucking punk—I’m sitting here squirming and you— _”_

“And you _can_ kiss me.” Steve was smiling for real now. “You know. If you’re into that.”

“God, you’re terrible,” Bucky exhaled, leaning in, “I really don’t like you at all,” and then he wrapped Steve in his arms, held him _tight_ and kissed him like he really wanted, like he’d wanted for weeks, and it was stupid because it was in no way their first kiss—and yet it also was.

 

*

 

Bucky woke up early, feeling very aware of the foreign mattress. He was in Steve’s bed. In Steve’s bedroom.

It was so strange how the most simple and chaste things ended up feeling the most intimate. Nat had told Bucky once that kinksters tended to do their relationships backwards: first came the sex in ropes, the hard whipping and the casual exchange of deepest fantasies. Then came the coffee dates and the hand-holding and the nervous kissing at the door.

 _Fine by me,_ Bucky thought, curling an arm around Steve to bring him closer. Steve hummed and stretched; then he turned round to face him.

“Were you spooning me?” he muttered.

“If I say yes, do I get a whipping?”

“Jury’s out.” Steve smiled at him, blue eyes half-lidded with sleep.

A few quiet, lazy minutes went by before Steve spoke again, very softly.

“Thanks for coming back last night.”

“God, don’t mention it. I feel so stupid that I left in the first place.”

Steve hesitated for a second, then looked down. He had crazy long lashes. “I thought… it was the other way around,” he said. “I thought you’d realized I was crazy about you and you were uncomfortable.”

Bucky couldn’t keep from smiling. “Crazy about me?”

“I’m _definitely_ whipping you later.” Steve shifted under the comforter, feet brushing Bucky’s. “Of course, Buck, c’mon. I made you breakfast for dinner and then I asked you out for drinks. I was so excited to see you yesterday I kissed you before you even walked through the door.”

“Well.” Bucky did feel sort of stupid. But he’d been subconsciously chalking it all up to Steve’s role as his Dom. “When you say it like that…”

“But I meant what I said,” Steve went on, nervous. “I’m not a real interesting guy. I draw all day on weekends. Or I stay in and watch movies. The nights out with Nat, that’s as wild as I get, really, and—okay, why are you laughing?”

“Because she fucking _planned it,”_ Bucky cackled. “God, Steve, you don’t get it. I’m a total couch gremlin—her words, not mine. I think she just wanted me off her couch and on yours for a change.”

Steve blinked, then smiled again.

“Well,” he said. “I’d be fine with that.”

“Yeah?” Bucky said, getting closer.

For a second they just smiled at each other.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you on that first day,” Steve whispered eventually. “And then every time you—” He closed his eyes for a second. “God, you don’t even know.”

“So,” Bucky said, because he’d been wondering about that, “I _was_ a special case? When you let me crash on your couch—I mean, it was nice of you and all, but I kept thinking it was really unsafe, you didn’t even _know_ me—”

“Oh, God, don’t talk to me about that,” Steve laughed. “I told myself it was because you were Nat’s friend, but—do you know that I don’t even kiss my clients?”

Bucky stared in enthrallment. “For real?”

“I mean, I do, sometimes, after we’ve become friends—but not on the day I _meet_ them. Not like I kissed you.” Steve smiled, then looked down again. “So, yeah, you’ve been a special case from the start.”

Bucky was all out of words. He tilted up Steve’s chin and kissed him, slow and soft and warm.

“I…” Steve reopened his eyes. “I haven’t dated anyone in years. Just a heads-up.”

“I’ve never dated anyone for more than three months in a row,” Bucky said. “You can’t out-lame me.”

Steve laughed. “Okay.”

Bucky pulled him in his arms. Steve seemed happy being cuddled, but Bucky couldn’t afford to go back to sleep, not just yet. He stared at the wall and spent the next minute working up the courage to say the last of his piece.

“Can I—will you keep being my Dom?” he managed eventually.

Steve inched back to look up at him. “I sure as hell hope so.”

“No, but I mean… Are you okay dating one of your clients?”

“What are you talking about?” Steve said, blinking. “You don’t have to be my client anymore.”

“But then it’s costing you money!” Bucky exclaimed. This was what he’d wanted to avoid. “I don’t want to make you choose between—”

“Okay—hold on a sec.” Steve fully disengaged from Bucky’s arms and sat up. “Have you noticed how fancy this building is?”

“Uh,” Bucky said, disoriented. “Yes?”

“Have you noticed that I’m not all that organized when it comes to money?”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. _“Yes.”_

“So do I strike you as someone who _needs_ money?”

“I—I guess not, but—”

“Bucky, I make ten thousand dollars a month. Give or take.”

Bucky stared at him.

“Give or take,” he echoed.

“Yeah. I have about a dozen clients. They’re not all as regular as you, but some of them pay me a lot more. And I live in my dungeon, so it’s not like I’m paying another rent.”

Bucky just kept staring.

“It’s actually pretty common fare for sex workers, you know. The same problems as lottery winners, a lot of money in a very short time, which we don’t always know how to manage. I was lucky to have Nat as my friend, she helped me find placement options.”

“Jesus.” Bucky shifted closer. “So then you’re crazy rich?”

Steve laughed. “Not really. The rent on this place _is_ huge, and I’m still paying back my student loans, and I also have a few heavy hospital bills. And like I said, my income isn’t steady, so I try to save money when I can.” He smiled. “Still, I won’t miss four hundred bucks a month.”

“Wow.” Bucky looked at him for a second, then lowered his eyes, forced himself to speak even though he sounded horribly dumb to his own ears. “So—then—I can be your sub for real?”

Instead of answering, Steve tangled a hand in his hair, pulled him closer and kissed him like he had the day before, pushing his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, taking total charge of the kiss. Bucky melted in his grip, and abruptly felt like crying with relief. He had imagined so many reasons for this not to work, and yet here they were now, on the other side of it all. He clung to Steve tight, tight, and let out a sigh that was almost a moan.

“You okay?” Steve asked against his mouth.

Bucky nodded. When he spoke, his voice was shakier than expected. “Just so glad I haven’t ruined everything.”

Steve stayed silent for a while.

“I _was_ dropping,” he said.

When Bucky stared at him, he winced. “You asked yesterday night, and—I should always tell you. So, yes, that was a drop for me. I was worried you wouldn’t ever come back, maybe I’d scared you or hurt you or maybe I’d gone too far, maybe you just didn’t like me all that much, maybe doing that kind of thing was wrong and crazy anyway—stupid stuff like that. I was gonna drink hot chocolate and watch sad movies all night.”

“I’m so sorry—”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. Like I said, it happens to everyone. The important thing is how we deal with it. And you came back for me, Buck. You came all the way back, just to make sure I was okay.”

“Yeah, eventually,” Bucky mumbled.

“Right on time,” Steve said, smiling.

 

*

 

“You’re _so_ late,” Clint said at the gate. “Didn’t even call. Tony’s going crazy.”

“Crazier than usual?” Bucky mumbled, swiping his badge.

The gate unlocked with a beep, but Clint didn’t deactivate the metal detector right away. “Seriously, man, what’s up?”

“Well—” Bucky couldn’t help smiling. “I spent the night at Steve’s. We—we talked and stuff.”

Clint’s smile was hesitant, but it was there. “Yeah?”

“We’re _dating,”_ Bucky said. He needed to tell _everyone._ He’d told strangers in the subway. God, he was probably even going to tell _Tony._ That’s how happy he was.

Clint frowned. “You weren’t dating before?”

“No, just playing,” Bucky said, then quickly explained, “it’s our technical term for—”

“I know, Nat told me.”

“Oh, so she’s _Nat_ now.”

Clint deactivated the detector, not quite managing to school his features into blandness. “Whatever, Barnes, just get your ass to work.”

 

*

 

“You knew!” Bucky accused as soon as he got home that night. “You knew Steve liked me!”

Natasha was applying lipstick with her mouth wide open and gave an answer made entirely of vowels, which could have meant anything from “of course, you fool” to “is this high school”. Bucky glared at her until she was done, pressing her lips together, tilting her head as she looked at herself in the mirror.

“Did not,” she said at last.

“Did too!” Bucky yelled. “You knew from the moment I came home after crashing on his couch! He told me he didn’t let clients stay over—”

“I suppose I had an _inkling.”_ She looked at him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “So, did you idiots sort it out?”

_“Unbelievable.”_

“You know, I really like Steve,” she said, turning towards him and crossing her legs. “So you better be careful with him.”

“Yeah, well—well _you_ be careful with _Clint,”_ Bucky said lamely. Then he took a deep breath. “Do you want pecan or dried raspberries?”

She blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Cookies. I’m baking you cookies of gratitude. _No,”_ Bucky said, raising a finger, “you’re forbidden to rub it in. Just tell me your pick.”

Natasha grinned. “Toffee and sea salt.”

“Unbelievable,” Bucky repeated, then headed to the kitchen because she’d really earned them.

 

*

 

“So, this movie kinda sucked, huh?” Bucky said, zipping up his jacket as they came out of the theater.

“It did,” Steve nodded gravely. “I need to buy it and rewatch it like at least three times.”

Bucky laughed. Steve smiled and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. Bucky kept being happily surprised at how into PDA Steve was—though of course it kinda made sense for someone so unabashed. It was technically their first date, but Bucky felt as though they’d been doing this for years.

“…and then when the secret base just exploded? I was like, _there’s no way_ —oh hey,” Steve said when he saw a bus coming up. “That one will take me home.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say, but Steve didn’t give him enough time for awkwardness. “You wanna come along?”

Bucky exhaled—Steve liked him, he really did—then smiled. “It’s not Thursday.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” Steve looked steadily at him. “And we don’t have to do anything, you know.”

“I know.” Bucky swallowed. “What if I want to, though?”

Steve gave him a wide smile. “Then I can probably whip up something.”

“Oh my God—you’re the _worst,_ you know that?”

“Buck, I don’t see the point in being a kinkster if you don’t make awful puns about it.” Steve changed his grip on Bucky’s wrist, making it tight and possessive. “Now let’s catch that bus.”

 

*

 

As soon as they were in the elevator, Bucky started kissing Steve again, but soon found himself ceding the lead, only too happy to do so. Steve slipped his hands under Bucky’s coat and shirt, running them over bare skin, and then raking his nails down his sides, drawing a whine out of him. They weren’t very long, but the pain still made Bucky press his face into his shoulder, shuddering.

The doors opened. Steve pushed Bucky out and followed him, keys jiggling as he looked for the right one. Bucky was dazed, already buzzing, so eager to have more.

“Take off your clothes,” Steve said as soon as he’d shut the door.

Bucky started stripping at once. He was aware of Steve busying himself around his drawers, but he didn’t look. He liked not knowing. He loved trust falls.

Still in his boxers, he folded his clothes on the couch, then took off his underwear just as Steve came back with two sets of purple ropes.

“Here, kneel,” Steve said, already unraveling the first bundle.

When Bucky did, Steve turned slightly pink; his hands, threading the rope, faltered and stopped.

“God, Buck.” He took a deep breath. “Do you even know how you look?”

Bucky smiled softly. “Even with the robot arm?”

Steve crouched next to him and tied his wrists in his back. “Your arm’s gorgeous, Buck. But that’s not the point.” He tightened the tie, tested it, then looped the rope around Bucky’s upper chest and arms, going for a solid box tie. “I’m tying you up and you’re just _letting_ me. You’re so hot and so fucking strong, and you’re there, you’re naked, you’re letting me make you helpless.”

Bucky’s body was beginning to react, just from Steve’s words—and he _was_ naked, there was no way he could hide his arousal. His cheeks flushed, his breathing quickened.

“I’m not a strong guy, Buck,” Steve went on, doubling up his rope and cinching it so Bucky couldn’t shrug it off to free himself. “But you trust me to take control of you. That’s—” He paused. “You don’t know what it does to me.”

He tightened the rope until Bucky had to breathe more shallow. He was at full mast now—it had taken no time at all.

“Don’t worry, Buck.” Steve tugged at Bucky’s cock, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. “I’m not forgetting the last time.”

Bucky felt a pang of worry, because the last time hadn’t gone so well. “The—the last time?”

“Yeah. I said I’d fuck you, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word.”

Bucky’s anxiety faded in a hot rush of arousal. “I—I haven’t cleaned myself.”

“Let me worry about that.” Steve put his hand behind Bucky’s neck. “And bend over.”

Breathless now—from the tightness of the ropes, from sheer excitement—Bucky knelt forward, and further, until his forehead touched the ground. _Helpless._ He did feel so, especially with his hands bound, his bare ass raised up for the taking. He imagined Steve just doing it now—shuffling behind him, grabbing his hips and pushing in, just like last time, without prep, leaving Bucky to struggle and cry out while his body adjusted to the stretch—

Something cold made him jump. Steve made a soothing noise and grabbed Bucky’s right hand, squeezing his fingers.

“Try to relax. It’s gonna feel big.”

It was a steel plug, Bucky understood with a sudden head rush. He squeezed Steve’s hand hard, shifting to open his legs further. _Please, please, please._

The head nudged forward, ice-cold, and then he felt the full, heavy smoothness of the raindrop-shaped toy as it started to enter him. It hurt and it was so _good._ This was why he loved pain—it was effortlessly thrilling, always intense right off the bat, not like the labyrinth of pleasure.

“There you go,” Steve said, soothing. He pushed one last time, and then the toy was in him.

Bucky blew out a shaky breath. In this position, the plug was a cool, insistent weight on his prostate. He squirmed a little to try and accommodate it, but it only made him more aware of it. He could feel his heartbeat around it, which was horribly embarrassing and terribly arousing. God, his body was pulsing with pleasure already, all the way down to his cock hanging heavy between his legs.

“Lie down on your side,” Steve said.

Bucky complied and heard the flat noise of more ropes coming loose from their bundle. Steve bent Bucky’s right leg double and tied it that way; then he did the same thing with the left, tugging the ties as hard as he could, every time. Bucky was dizzy. Why was it so _good_ already? They had barely done anything—

“Now try to get back on your knees.”

Bucky obeyed, though of course he had to use his abs for it—and clenching his core made him _acutely_ aware of the toy in his ass. He let out a noise, shaky and weak and entirely involuntary.

“C’mon, do it,” Steve ordered, grinning.

Bucky tried again, awkwardly dragging himself upwards, baffled and ashamed to realize he couldn’t do it without clenching his ass. As he managed to straighten up, it all got worse—the heavy toy weighed down, and Bucky had to actively hold it in. He bit his lip and shuffled fully to his knees. His chest harness was holding admirably tight, restricting his arms and hands in his back; his legs were bound in a kneeling position; he could use nothing but his core strength to keep the toy inside him. The rush of humiliation was so intense his eyes blurred with tears. Wetness leaked from his cock as well.

“Okay?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky nodded, breathless and so hopelessly _aroused._ When Steve kissed him in answer, it was so deep and filthy that some distant part of Bucky managed to realize Steve was probably excited at least a little bit, too. Maybe a lot. Bucky _loved_ it, to know his Dom was drawing pleasure from him, from what he was putting him through.

He had closed his eyes, and he’d never even tried to keep track of Steve’s movements, so the first snap of pain took him completely by surprise.

He cried out and scooted back, only to be kept close by Steve’s hand fisting in his hair. “Easy, Buck.”

Steve was standing up now. His riding crop—black, of course—came under Bucky’s chin, making him hold a rigid posture. Bucky caught his breath and looked up at Steve, unable to speak.

“You’re tied up this time, so feel free to try and escape.” Steve grinned. “It won’t get you anywhere, but it’s fun to watch.”

Bucky realized he’d stopped breathing; he exhaled shakily, eyeing the crop. He was definitely nonverbal again this time around, but it was okay. Steve knew. Steve even liked it.

“Remember your safeword?” When Bucky nodded, Steve brushed a thumb across his cheek. “I know you do.”

Then he landed a stinging blow on Bucky’s bound thigh, just between the ropes. Bucky jumped and—just like Steve had said—instinctively tried to move away. Steve still had a solid grip on his hair and roughly brought him back, then hit him again, even sharper. Standing up, he had no problem controlling Bucky’s awkward attempts to move away. The crop came down again, pushing a strangled whine out of Bucky’s mouth. It was a strange pain—very similar to the cane, yet more bearable, because the burn didn’t last as long and didn’t go as deep. Still, Bucky knew it would overwhelm him much quicker than a flogger would.

His chest was bound so tight his pectorals bulged a little; the crop came down there, snapping at his nipple, making him writhe in his bonds again. When Steve hit his other nipple, Bucky cried out and folded forward, forcing Steve to let go of his hair.

“Trying to hide your front? Okay.”

Bucky understood his mistake too late—Steve’s crop positioned itself between his legs, then snapped _hard_ at his balls. Bucky straightened up at once, forcing himself to present his chest and thighs again, chest heaving. More tears were welling up in his eyes, though they hadn’t rolled down yet.

“Yeah, thought so,” Steve grinned. “How’s it going down there?”

He crouched to tug at the toy in Bucky’s ass. Bucky had managed to forget about it for a second—but he was vividly reminded now, squirming and whimpering when Steve pushed it further up, making him feel uncomfortably full. When Steve stopped playing with it, it seemed heavier than ever, and Bucky had to clench again so it wouldn’t fall out.

“You know better than to let it out, don’t you?” Steve said.

Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, you do.” Steve got back to his feet. “Open up.”

Though he was surprised to feel the folded leather push past his lips, Bucky accepted it unreservedly the next second, sucking it in like it was Steve’s fingers, curling his tongue around it. He made a show of it, enjoying the attention, imagining how he looked to Steve. How Steve saw him. He opened his eyes, which kept closing on their own, and met Steve’s gaze. His pupils were blown. He was staring back like there was nothing else in the world.

Then Steve took the crop out and snapped at Bucky’s nipple again. Bucky couldn’t even react to it, because right then the toy in his ass almost slipped out, making him straighten up at once, clenching to keep it in.

He had to work his core to bring it fully back in, and this time, his tears rolled down. It seemed to make Steve melt—he knelt down next to Bucky, tangling his free hand in his long hair again, smiling his fond lopsided smile.

“I’m giving you a hard time, huh?”

Bucky still couldn’t speak, but he turned his head toward Steve, because it was all so good, and he needed to let him know, needed to show him, to make him hear the mantra inside his head, _anything for you, anything you want to do to me, I’ll give it all to you, I—_

The crop snapped at his chest again, at his thighs, at his abs, but Bucky didn’t try to move away anymore; he managed to keep himself there, close to Steve, so Steve could enjoy first-hand the twitches of pain and ecstasy chasing themselves across his face, it was all for him, the pain and the pleasure, he was giving them to Bucky and Bucky was giving them right back, and he was _so_ hard, and every time he had to clench on the toy—he had to clench a _lot—_ it squeezed on his prostate, cranked up the pleasure in him, pushed him closer to the shuddery edge, he was so close, god, so close, trembling, he wouldn’t need much—

He realized all at once that he was crying for good, breathy sobs rushing in and out of him, and Steve kissed his mouth and his cheeks, and positioned the riding crop over Bucky’s cock, whispering encouragements, telling him to brace for it, and Bucky suddenly knew what was about to happen; his mind almost couldn’t believe it but his body was already certain, and here it was already, the crop raising, then snapping down onto the sensitive head of his cock—and with another jerk of his hips and a huge gasping moan, Bucky came untouched, painting white stripes over Steve’s shining floorboards.

 _“Jesus_ ,” Steve said, sounding very breathless too. “Yeah, there you are, so fucking good, Bucky, spend it all, it’s okay, it’s allowed. God—” and he was kissing him again, probably tasting Bucky’s tears in his mouth, feeling the aftershocks in his body, how shaky his breathing was.

Bucky felt dizzy and spent from his orgasm, still shaking and gasping, suddenly unsure whether he could bear any more pain, wanting nothing more than to surrender. When the crop raised, he moved away.

“No—”

“You’re done?” Steve looked at him for a second, then smiled warmly. “Yeah, you’re done.”

He put it down, and fresh tears rolled down Bucky's cheeks because it moved something deep in him, to beg for mercy and to actually get it.

“One last thing for me, though, if you’re up for it,” Steve said, and grabbed his hair to tug his head down, making him kneel forward, face down like before. “I’d really like to see you clean it up.”

Bucky’s stomach swooped. For a second, he was so dazed that he almost forgot to answer, but then he hurried to give a shaky nod.

“Yeah? You’ll do that for me?” Steve brought him right above it. “Then get to work.”

Bucky was losing his breath again. He bent further down, made an effort to get his tears under control, and finally managed to start licking up the mess he’d made, choking on a muffled sob from time to time. Steve rubbed the back of his neck while he did it, whispering more praise. The humiliation went deep, and Bucky loved it like he loved pain, from that distant place where everything was a spectacle. It was a gift. It was for him.

When Bucky was done, he realized he didn’t have the strength to pull himself up again. But Steve didn’t make him. Steve was there, untying his legs so Bucky could curl up with his head in his lap. His breath still hitched at times, his face wet with tears. The toy finally slipped from his ass and hit the floorboards with a dull sound, rolling away. It made him gasp softly, twitching around emptiness, and Steve kissed him again, passionately, as if chasing this last little bit of humiliation into his mouth.

“Look at you,” he said hoarsely. He rubbed a thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone. “Is it okay to leave your arms like this for now?”

Bucky nodded. It was okay. Everything was so perfectly okay. His body was shaking with aftershocks of pleasure; his mind was expanding into blissful quietness. _I love you,_ was all he could think anymore. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

Maybe that’s all he’d ever been thinking, from the very start.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the main fic! 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading, I had an amazing time talking about kink in the comments with you. ♥ Again, I want to thank everyone in the RBB for making this happen, and especially my artist [Riakomai](http://riakomai.tumblr.com), the one, the only (THAT ART, AMIRIGHT?). Go shower her with love on her [AO3 sister work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11243490), or on her Tumblr ([original art](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/post/162075534414/some-kinky-shrinkyclinks-art-for-the-captain), [additional art](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/post/162075768094/when-steve-began-untying-him-at-last-bucky-was), and [FIC MASTERPOST](http://riakomai.tumblr.com/post/162076103584/we-are-the-things-that-we-do-for-fun-art-by))
> 
> Two last things:
> 
> \- FICLETS! I'm gonna turn this into a series and add three ficlets to round up this 'verse. :D The first one will be exploring Steve's POV, the second one will tell us more about what the heck Clint and Natasha have been doing in the background, and the last one will be a threesome between Steve, Bucky and... I'm not telling yet. :p  
> If you're interested and you want to make sure you won't miss it, you can subscribe to the author! (Aka me.) Or to the series when it's up. :D  
> \- And a disclaimer: I am a kinkster and a lot of the situations in this fic were drawn directly from experience. HOWEVER, not _all_ of them were, and as much as I tried to keep it close to real life, it's still fiction. So just in case: don't use this fic as a fool-proof guide. Talk it out with your partner and always do your own research before trying anything new. 
> 
> Have fun, be safe, thank you again for reading - and see you for the ficlets! ♥
> 
> (Also: wanna support my real-life writing career? You can follow me on [Tumblr](https://naomisalman.tumblr.com/) about it.)


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